After
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Post-series. Ruth and Harry's life together after leaving MI-5.
1. Chapter 1

**After**

Harry stood in the corner of the hospital room, unable to look away, unable to bring himself any closer. She had nearly died because he was too close. Too many times. First Cotterdam and her sacrifice for him, then her bitter and tragic return, then Albany and his unwanted sacrifice for her, and now this. Sasha Gavrik had tried to attack Harry to avenge his mother, but Ruth had stood in his path.

He'd never felt so helpless in all his life. All he could do was hold her, kiss her, cry atop her bleeding body. If it weren't for Dimitri, Harry's entire world would have been lost. His officer had quite literally shoved Harry away and performed a crude but effective little procedure to reinflate her collapsed lung. It had kept her heart beating long enough for the helicopter medics to arrive.

Erin had helped him into the helicopter, for he was too numb with grief to fully understand what was going on. He'd ever been so paralyzed before. But he'd never loved anyone so much before.

Now he was here in her room, watching her breathe with the slight aid of machines and tubes coming out of her, thanks to the extensive surgery that had saved her life. She was hooked up to an oxygen mask and half a dozen IV bags pumping her full of painkillers and antibiotics and whatever else. But she was alive.

Her eyes fluttered open, and he resisted the urge to run to her side. He needed to exercise caution, not let his emotions run away with him. All of this with the Gavriks and everything with his job and with Ruth since Albany had left him so out of sorts. He'd been strong, once. He'd been ruthless and cold and calculating and so sure of himself. It was everything that had ruined his personal life, destroyed his marriage and caused his children to hate him. It's what had made him a great spook. But those days were gone, clearly.

"Harry?"

The sound of her hoarse voice utterly shattered his heart. "I'm here, Ruth," he replied, still struggling to keep his distance.

She turned her head toward the sound of his voice and lifted a shaky hand toward him. His resolve was gone. He flew to her side, taking her small, delicate hand between his two large ones.

With her free hand, she pulled the oxygen mask off her face, undeterred when he tried to stop her. "Hello," she said simply, trying to smile through the clear fog of pain and drugs coursing through her.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn't try to blink them away. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm fine," she insisted.

He nearly laughed. "Ruth, you practically bled to death in my arms."

"But I didn't. I'm sure the surgeons patched me up just fine. I don't think I'll be running any marathons or fighting off attackers any time soon, but I shouldn't think that would be a problem now."

"No, not when you work for the Home Office."

"Bugger the Home Office. I was serious earlier, Harry. Leave with me. Please. As soon as I get out of here, let's just go. For once in our bloody lives, let's be selfish and steal a bit of happiness. Together."

Harry squeezed her hand, feeling hope flood his heart. "Towers already told me to take leave to be with you while you recover," he told her. Erin had spoken to the Home Secretary and informed him of the events of the day with the Gavriks and with Ruth. Towers had called his cell phone while Harry had waited during Ruth's surgery. He had no idea if she would survive, but he had immediately snapped up the opportunity to turn away from anything that threatened to pull him from Ruth's side now.

"Tad presumptuous of him," she smirked.

Harry exhaled and promised quietly, "I'll let him know I'm not coming back." She was right, earlier. They should leave together. She'd finally asked him—twice now—and Harry only needed the assurance that she'd be there with him and he'd leave everything else behind without a second glance.

Now it was Ruth's turn to have her eyes fill with tears. "Thank you, Harry. Thank you."

He pressed a kiss to her hand and murmured, "No, thank you, Ruth."


	2. Chapter 2

Ruth had been quietly fighting against the doctors for nearly a week, begging them to wean her off the drugs so she could go home. And she knew it was the pain and the painkillers that were convincing her muddled and frightened mind that every day she stayed in the hospital was one more day for Harry to change his mind. They were so bloody close to getting the life they wanted, but these delays left them in limbo, left her worried that he would have too much time to fully realize that waiting around for her and playing nursemaid wasn't what he'd had in mind, that the fantasy of being together that he'd constructed and clung to over the years was nothing like reality, and that reality wasn't worth the trouble she was causing him.

She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and somehow it never did. He stayed with her in the hospital as much as they'd allow him to. He brought in takeaway for them to share while they spoke quietly about gentle topics, keenly avoiding any discussion of Five or the Home Office or anything else work-related.

Strangely, what Harry spoke of more than anything else, which Ruth was happy to ask him questions about, was his children. Perhaps being on leave without a looming disciplinary hearing, like after Albany, had caused him to think about his life outside of work. He hadn't spent much of their childhood with Catherine or Graham, but he seemed to have endless stories about Catherine climbing onto his lap and her little hands ripping out his hair, Graham first learning to read and insisting that he be the one to read his own bedtime story to his father. Ruth found comfort in this new openness he had in his family, and her mind was filled with daydreams if meeting his children with him, of spending weekends and holidays all together sometime in the future. A lovely dream. And one that, somehow, seemed possible of coming true.

At last, she was allowed to go home. Harry drove her to her little flat on the afternoon when she was released. She was off the IV meds but was still on a whole host of medications she had to remember to take in certain intervals to ensure that her body healed properly and that she wasn't in danger of getting an infection. Her bandages still needed to be changed every few hours and her stitches kept clean. She felt like a pincushion and she hated it.

"Ruth, you get settled in bed. Your own bed, finally," Harry said with feigned cheeriness. It all seemed so odd to her, but her mind was so muddled, she could be perceiving it wrong. "I'll bring you some sweet tea and a bit of toast, if you like."

"Maybe later. I'm not very hungry just now."

"Of course." He took her face gently in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You go rest. I'll be here if you need anything."

Ruth knew the doctors had only agreed to discharge her because Harry had promised to be with her and take care of her. She still doubted how long that would last. Some prize she was now.

Feeling the weight of her personal failings heavy upon her, Ruth clambered into bed. She wore only her knickers and an old Oxford shirt she'd salvaged from her old life; putting on anything else was far too much effort. She fell asleep quickly, comfortable in the sheets of her own bed.

She was awoken by Sasha Gavrik, plunging jagged glass into her stomach. The slicing and ripping of her organs was not dulled by shock this time. She felt every single bit of it. She saw the young man's face twisted in rage and sorrow and confusion as Ruth stepped in front of Harry, trying to diffuse the conflict and protect the man she loved, the man she was now so close to finally sharing a life with. Her own blood spilled hot on her in the chilled coastal wind.

Ruth screamed in pain, cried out Harry's name as she begged for him to save her as he always did.

"You're alright, Ruth. I'm here. I'm right here, Ruth."

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Harry's soothing voice. "Harry?" she stammered in confusion.

He was holding her in his arms, sitting up in her bed and pressing her against his strong body, keeping her safe. "You're at home," he explained. "You were released from hospital a few hours ago. Elena and Sasha are dead and Ilya is gone, and you and I are here in your flat and everything is going to be alright."

"It felt so real. It was real. I could feel it all happening again. I was dying. I didn't want to leave you." Ruth could hear her own voice, quiet and harsh and distant.

"You've been through a very traumatic experience, Ruth," he said gently. "The nightmares will lessen over time, I promise."

"I haven't had nightmares like this in a long time. Not since I was on the run and I saw Oliver Mace's beady little eyes laughing at me, waking me up in the middle of the night. I would cry and call out your name, and then I'd have to move somewhere else before anyone heard me and asked questions."

"I'm here now, Ruth. I'll always be here from now on," he vowed.

She choked back a sob. "I didn't have dreams after George and Nico or after Lucas and Albany. Why now?"

"Different events affect us in different ways. Trauma cannot always be predictable," Harry offered gently.

"Do you still have nightmares? About the things you've seen?"

Harry nodded. He was quiet for a moment, stroking her hair and considering what to say to her. "The losses, mostly. Bill Crombie. Fiona and Adam Carter—I sometimes see little Wes crying in my dreams. Ros. You. You, most of all."

"I'm still here, too, Harry," she reminded him, clutching the fabric of his soft jumper tightly in her fists.

"But there were so many times when you very nearly weren't, Ruth."

"Maybe," she began hesitantly, "there wouldn't be so many nightmares for either of us…if we…if we could have the other one there…if we woke up..."

Harry pressed a kiss to her hair. "I think that's a very good idea."

He let go of her so he could climb off the bed and remove his trousers and jumper. He climbed into Ruth's bed wearing only his vest and trunks and pulled her back into his arms. Their bare legs tangled together, and Harry had to be careful where he put his hands so he wouldn't disturb her stitches.

Ruth felt all the tension and terror leave her body as he enveloped her in his embrace. Everything about him was warm and strong. She felt safe and loved, as she always imagined she could be with him.

"Thank you, Harry. I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

He chuckled and kissed the side of her neck, holding her closer. "We're both a bit of a mess. Makes us a good pair. We'll find our way."

"I daresay we will," she agreed sleepily. She felt exhaustion overtake her once again, and with Harry holding her tight, she welcomed slumber once again.


	3. Chapter 3

After two days, Ruth was finally strong enough to spend most of the day out of bed. And it was just as well, since Harry had no other clothes to wear and was in desperate need of a change of pants. He hadn't said anything, however, because he didn't like the idea of leaving Ruth alone while he went home to get clothes and have a shave. She, however, noticed his unkempt appearance.

"You've showered since you've been here, haven't you?" she asked with a slight frown, staring at him as they sat on the sofa watching some pointless cooking show.

"Yes, I've been showering before I join you in bed each night."

"You haven't shaved."

"No, I don't think your pink razor is properly made to be used on my face" he replied flippantly.

A small smile tugged at her lips. "You could grow a beard," she suggested.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ruth was a playful person sometimes, but he wasn't used to her humor being directed at him. "I would look utterly ridiculous."

"I don't think you would. But I do so like your soft cheeks when they're smooth and clean shaven."

"And now I'm a filthy unshaven beast, is that it?"

"No, you're just a bit..."

"A bit what?"

"Sharp. Your stubble is sharp. I don't want to get beard burn on my face when we kiss. Which, by the way, we haven't done nearly enough," she pointed out.

Harry smiled and leaned in. He whispered, "I promise I'll be very gentle."

Ruth smiled and lightly pressed her lips to his a few times, humming happily. "That's lovely, but I could do with a proper snog once you're clean shaven again."

He shook his head. "My razor is at home, as are the rest of my things. And I don't much like the thought of leaving you by yourself."

"Then don't. I mean, I can go with you to yours. We could spend a few days there. I can recover at you house just as well as I can here. If...if that's alright," she added, suddenly realizing she'd just invited herself to stay at his home.

"I'd like that very much," he replied. "Why don't we pack some of your things and head over this afternoon?"

"Wonderful," she agreed happily.

Later in the day, they arrived at Harry's spartan and spotless house, so very different from Ruth's barely-controlled clutter and chaos. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to have a shower and shave so we can have that proper snog you've been waiting for," he teased. "You can unpack your things in the bedroom."

"Your bedroom?" she asked, not wanting to make assumptions.

He smiled softly. "I'd rather hoped it would be our bedroom." After all, they'd been sharing Ruth's bed since that first night when she woke up with her nightmare. She'd only had one more since then, and Harry had been able to soothe her back to sleep relatively easily. Even without the nightmares, he never wanted to sleep another night without her again. And, perhaps, he wouldn't have to.

Ruth's face broke into a giddy grin. "Alright."

Harry just stared at her for a moment, completely in awe.

Her face fell as a result of his scrutiny. "What?"

"I really love seeing you so happy."

"You make me happy, Harry."

Unsure how he could possibly convey any sort of adequate response, Harry went upstairs to his bathroom with a slight spring in his step.

Ruth took her time wandering his house. It was wildly impersonal and generic, but it felt like Harry. Nothing ostentatious or elaborate. Nothing too modern or too traditional. It was unassuming, perhaps a bit cold at first glance. It smelled like Harry. And Ruth felt very comfortable here among his things.

Even though he'd said for her to unpack her things, Ruth waited a bit to go upstairs. She sat down on his sofa, grimacing slightly as her stitches twinged. How odd it was that she should feel comfortable here. For years and years, her feelings for Harry had made her wildly uncomfortable. She had feared her attraction to him, her desire to be close to him, her worry over what all of that might lead to. Now, though, they'd survived the worst that the world had to offer. Together, they'd dealt with kidnappings and watching their friends be killed and being manipulated by terrorists for their love of each other. Harry had committed treason to save her. Ruth had been stabbed almost to death to save him. In a rather horrific way, they were even now. She had earned this. She'd proven herself worthy of Harry Pearce. At least, in her own mind she had. There were still doubts that plagued her, that he'd grow to resent her frailty as she recovered from her injuries and blame her for his boredom if he did in fact retire from the Service in order to be with her. He was all she wanted now, and he'd always indicated that she was all he wanted, but would this attempt to create a life all their own really live up to the dreams they'd fantasized about all these years?

"Everything alright?"

Ruth turned to see Harry at the foot of the stairs, dressed in rather comfortable-looking clothes and his hair wet from his shower. She smiled. "Everything's fine. I was just thinking about how nice it is to be here in your house. Thank you for having me."

"Well, I haven't actually had you yet, Ruth," he quipped.

"Harry!" she scolded, laughing at his innuendo. She stood up from the sofa, hissing in pain at the movement. He moved to help her, but she waved him off. "No, I'm fine," she insisted. She turned back toward him. "You've shaved, I see."

"Yes, all smooth for you now."

Ruth traced her fingers lightly along his cheeks. "Mmm, I can see that. How lovely," she murmured.

Harry smiled, beyond pleased that he had pleased her. "I believe I owe you something."

"I'd say you do." Ruth pulled him toward her and captured his lips with hers. Everything about him was so soft and strong, so erotic and intoxicating. His full lips moved so perfectly. The taste of his tongue was a heady drug. Ruth felt all the air sucked out of her body as she clung to him, enjoying every moment. She could barely form a coherent thought, but one word ran through her mind as he continued to kiss her: _finally_.


	4. Chapter 4

They were in the midst of a rather stupid argument when it happened. Ruth, stubborn mule that she was, was undeterred. "Harry, this is really silly. Don't start packing things yet! You haven't even seen the house. You might not like it. It's small and it's rundown and it's all the way in Suffolk."

He stood firm and demanded, "Ruth, answer me just three questions."

She sighed. "Alright."

"Do you like the house?"

"Yes."

"Did you picture us living there together, with the small bedroom as my study and us spending mornings in the sun-drenched downstairs and retiring upstairs to share the large bedroom?"

She blushed slightly. "Yes."

"And has your offer been accepted by the seller?"

"Yes."

"Well, then that is all I need to know. You like it and you imagined us living there together, and you've bought it. I trust your judgment, so we're going to be rather modern and move in to the house that you have bought for us."

"But Harry, what if you don't like it?"

He was getting really, properly annoyed with her. "I know my own mind, Ruth!" he snapped. "If you wanted to live in a hut in the Sahara, I'd move there, too! What on earth is this fixation you have with worrying about me not liking your house!?"

"Because I cannot be the sole key to your happiness, Harry!" she finally shouted. "Because I am not enough!"

He stared at her, shocked. For one thing, she'd never properly yelled at him like that before. But more importantly, how could such a brilliant woman believe such an utterly stupid thought?

And at that moment, amidst their tension-filled silence, the doorbell rang.

Ruth went to answer it, glaring at Harry slightly as she did so, and gasped. "Home Secretary!" She was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that she had bare feet and her hair in a mess all pulled up on her head and was wearing sweat pants and one of Harry's old jumpers.

"I've told you before, Ruth, please call me William," he replied with a pleasant smile.

Harry came to the door and silently cursed Towers and his presence at his home. "Do come in, Home Secretary." He placed his hands gently on Ruth's hips to move her away from the door.

"Sorry to bother you at home, Harry," Towers greeted upon entering the foyer.

"You could have called," he replied with a grumble.

"Apparently not, since neither of you have been answering your phones!"

Ruth frowned. "I haven't got a phone. I mean, my mobile was taken at the hospital and I haven't seen it since."

Towers looked at Harry. "Well I suppose that explains it. I knew you wouldn't ignore me."

Ruth turned to Harry as well. "What's going on?"

He spoke directly to Towers instead of answering Ruth. "We've resigned from the Security Services, Hope Secretary. The both of us."

"Yes, Harry, and I've accepted your resignation and all the terms of your pension. That's fine. That's not why I'm here. I came to see Ruth."

"You...you knew I'd be here?" she interjected in a small voice.

Towers looked at her curiously. "Where else would you be, Ruth?" he asked softly.

Choosing for the moment to ignore the way the Home Secretary intimated details of her life, Ruth turned back to Harry. "What have you been doing while I've been recovering from getting nearly stabbed to death!?"

"You said we should leave together, I thought that's what you wanted!" he replied, confused and terrified that he'd completely ruined things before they'd really begun.

"No, Harry, I..." she began.

"Hah!" Towers cried triumphantly. "Ruth, I knew you wouldn't leave without a word. I didn't trust that Harry spoke for you."

"He does not speak for me, I can speak for myself," Ruth snapped. It suddenly didn't matter that she looked ridiculous. These two men were far too used to getting their way and feeling pleased with themselves, and in this regard, she simply wouldn't have it.

Both Harry and Towers fell silent at her harsh tone.

Ruth took a calming breath and began anew. "Harry, it wasn't your place to resign for me. But regardless of how it was done, either by Harry telling you over the phone or by me coming to your office and telling you in person as I'd planned, the result is the same. I am resigning from the Home Office, effective immediately. We're leaving, together, while we still can," she told Towers, reaching out to grasp Harry's hand.

Towers shook his head in disbelief. "You can't just leave, Ruth, you're too brilliant. You'll be bored out of your mind!"

She gave a small smile. "I should think Harry's the one more likely to be bored."

"Harry should have retired years ago."

"And if I hadn't been such a petrified fool, perhaps he would have. But better late than never," she replied.

Harry listened quietly and gave her hand a little squeeze.

Ruth continued, "Harry has devoted his entire life to this country. He's earned some quiet."

"I'm not concerned about Harry, I'm concerned about you, Ruth. You're too young and talented to just give it all up!" Towers insisted.

She gave a small smile. "My talents are vast, William. I'll find something else to do. But as it is, there is only one thing in this world that I cannot give up, and he's standing here holding my hand."

Harry was nearly moved to tears, but still he stayed quiet.

Towers could see he was defeated. "I suppose I still don't want to be a home wrecker," he muttered. He gave a heavy sigh. "Very well, Ruth. I can see you won't be swayed. And now that I've heard it straight from your mouth, I suppose I must believe your resignation is genuine. And I guess there's nothing left but for me to wish you well and to say goodbye."

Both Ruth and Harry shook the politician's hand. Harry found his voice just to say, "Home Secretary, I've enjoyed working with you, but I hope you won't be offended if I say I hope we never see you again other than on the BBC."

Towers just laughed. "Farewell, Sir Harry, Miss Evershed."

And then he left. Ruth closed and locked the front door behind him. "That was the strangest visitor I've ever had in my bare feet," she remarked.

"Ruth," he said in a quiet voice.

"Yes, Harry?" She turned to see him take a few steps away in the foyer.

"Come sit on the sofa with me," he requested.

She followed without question. Despite feeling better every day, Ruth still hasn't regained her stamina. Standing and carrying on a stressful conversation with Towers had exhausted her more than she'd expected.

They took their now-customary places on the sofa, snuggled up together comfortably. "Ruth, is that what's worrying you? About me liking the house? You're worried I'll get bored?"

"Of course you will. Harry, you've been immersed in your work for your entire adult life. And regardless of how you care for me and want us to build a life together, I can't help but be concerned that you'll wake up one day wondering why you gave up all the excitement and that noble calling just to live in a small house in the country with me and putter around in a garden."

"Ruth, you told Towers that your talents are vast and you'll find something else to do. Well, I may not be as brilliant as you, but I'm not entirely useless. I'll find something, too. And need I remind you, Ruth, that I devoted my life to the job long after my expiration date because there was nothing else in my life for me to focus on. After the divorce, after I ruined things with my children, I had nothing outside of the Grid. And then there was you. And you were on the Grid with me. Perhaps if things had worked out for us differently, I might have left years ago. But I never wanted to leave you. Because you are enough. You, my darling Ruth, are everything."

Suddenly Ruth didn't have words. Strange, that she usually had too many words, all of them tumbling out of her mouth to catch up with her brain. But now, there was nothing. So Ruth did all that was left to her: she leaned in and kissed him. Softly, at first, but then their lips began to move with more fervor. Passion sparked between them. Harry cradled the back of her head in his hand and deepened the kiss. His tongue traced her lips and dipped into her mouth when she opened it to him. Ruth moaned, wanting more and more of him.

Foolishly ignoring the slight tug at her stitches, Ruth awkwardly readjusted herself, trying not to break the kiss as she crawled over him and settled her knees on either side of his hips, straddling him provocatively.

Harry could feel the danger in this moment, knew he needed to stop things before it went too far, needed to protect what small sense of dignity he had remaining to him. But then Ruth began to grind herself down on his lap. He could feel the heat of her pressed against him, rubbing and seeking friction. It was the most delicious, horrible thing.

"Ruth..." he warned, trying to pull away from her but really not wanting to.

"Harry," she moaned, her lips moving down his neck and sucking hard at his pulse point.

He involuntarily thrust against her, grabbing her waist in his hands.

Ruth gasped and let out a startled squeak. There was no desire in those sounds but rather pain. Harry immediately let her go. Ruth slid off him and into the sofa beside him, clutching at her middle and whimpering.

"Jesus, Ruth, I'm so sorry," he apologized, panicking that he'd hurt her.

"It's not your fault, Harry. I got carried away." Her voice shook with the enormity of her pain.

"Can you feel if the stitches got pulled? Are you bleeding?" he asked with concern.

"I don't know."

"Here, let me see. Your bandages probably need changing anyway. I'll get the dressings." He got up to collect everything from the bathroom.

Ruth remained curled up, blinking back tears. They were caused equally from pain, embarrassment, and frustration. When Harry returned, she lifted the jumper to expose her wound, keeping her eyes shut tight, desperately trying to keep from crying.

But Harry could see that expression on her face. There wasn't any bleeding that he could see, so he simply placed a hand on her bare stomach. "Ruth, would you like me to get the painkillers?"

"No. I'm sorry, Harry," she answered quietly, still staunchly refusing to look at him.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"You gave up your whole life only to be saddled with a broken woman you can't even touch."

"I'm touching you now," he pointed out. His hand softly rubbed soothing circles on her exposed skin, careful not to disturb the bandages stitches any further.

"You know what I mean. We've waited so long to be together and now we can't do anything without me doubled over in pain like this."

"Ruth, please look at me," he requested.

She reluctantly opened her eyes to gaze up at him. His expression was full of only affection.

"We've waited a long time, you're right. But we have to wait a little longer until you're healed. The last thing I want is to hurt you. To lose control and to cause you pain."

"It isn't fair," she lamented.

"Perhaps not. But better to have you alive and taking your time to heal than the alternative. Ruth, I thought you'd died out there. I had my hand covered in your blood, and you went quiet and pale and cold and I kissed you and cried harder than I think I ever have in my life. I cannot bear to see you even close to that again. And so, we'll wait. I have waited a lifetime to have you, so what's a few weeks more, hmm?"

"You might be able to wait, but I don't think I can," she grumbled. The guilt and shame were dissipating, leaving her horrifically frustrated by the whole thing. Oh what she wouldn't give for his hand to travel up just a few inches under her jumper, or down between her legs. She wanted him so much but couldn't have him.

"Try to exercise restraint," he chuckled lovingly. "Besides, you may be stitched and bandages, but you'll heal soon enough. I am likely to remain fat and old and balding until my dying day. I'm no great prize."

"You are precisely how I like you," she insisted. "Don't forget, Harry, I've read your personnel file. You don't work as a honeytrap that many times without being extremely good at what you do, regardless of a few extra pounds. It simply isn't fair that I have to wait so long to find out."

His ego was bolstered more than he cared to admit. The very idea that she could possibly want him as much as he wanted her was quite astounding. And perhaps it was best they couldn't consummate their relationship yet. Harry somehow enjoyed the easy intimacy of living with her without uncontrolled lust getting in the way. "I won't hurt you, Ruth, not anymore. So you'll have to wait. But I promise it will be worth it," he growled, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. "Now then, let's seen to that wound, shall we?"

Ruth sighed, allowing Harry to clean and dress her wound. She knew she was very lucky she hadn't pulled the stitches enough to cause bleeding. They'd need to be more careful, Harry was right. But that didn't mean she liked it.

When Harry had finished bandaging her up, he made the dire mistake of leaning down to lightly kiss her bare stomach. The feel of her skin under his lips and the scent of her filling his nose sent heat straight to his groin, reigniting the passion from their fiery kiss. He sat up suddenly and cleared his throat. "Right. You stay down here. I'll just pop upstairs and then make us some tea."

"Why do you need to go upstairs?"

He was already halfway out of the room when he muttered, "To take a cold shower."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry got into the driver's seat of his car and looked at Ruth beside him and smiled. "Two more weeks."

She stared straight ahead. "Two more weeks," she repeated numbly.

They had just left Ruth's doctor for her checkup. Her stitches had been removed, but there was still a lot of tenderness and internal damage that required her to remain relatively inactive. The doctor wanted to check her once more in two weeks, at which time, assuming there were no further complications, Ruth would be given the all-clear to resume all physical activity, including sport, exercise, and most importantly, sex.

Two more weeks. There was so much happening in the next two weeks. Ruth's mind was whirling at the prospect of all the things awaiting them.

Harry didn't like that look on her face. He hadn't bothered starting the engine yet, not wanting to be driving if and when she finally came out with what was bothering her. So Harry sped up the process a bit. "You're worried you won't be ready? Or you're upset that we still have to wait two weeks?"

Ruth looked to him with a concerned frown. "Both, actually. Counting down like this, it's quite a lot of buildup. And I don't like being so limited like this. The idea that we can't come together naturally whenever the moment feels right is just so frustrating! I mean, how many times have you had to run away from me to take a cold shower? How many times have I had to scream into a pillow just to release the tension? And in two weeks, we're just going to say it's time and go at it? It should have to be like this, Harry. After everything we've been through, eight years in the making, and this is what we're reduced to?"

Reaching over to take her hand, Harry pressed her fidgeting fingers to his lips. "Ruth, I guarantee that when the time comes, whenever it is, we won't just 'go at it.' I have spent years imagining how we would be together, dreaming of how you'll look and sound and taste, fantasizing about all the things we'll do when the time is right. And it will happen when the time is right, once your doctor is confident you won't get hurt. I promise you, it will be very natural and special and wonderful. I won't just paw at you the moment I'm allowed; did you really think I would?"

"It's not you I'm worried about," she mumbled.

"What is worrying you, then?"

Ruth took her hand back from him and gazed out the window. "Let's just go home, Harry.

He started the car and drove them back to his house, where they'd been staying together as Ruth recovered. As soon as he parked, before the engine was even off, Ruth was out of the car and walking up the front steps, waiting for Harry to disable the alarm. He let her inside and she went right upstairs and into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Harry sighed, wondering what on earth he'd done wrong this time. He heard the water going through the pipes and assumed she was taking a shower. Nothing he could do but wait till she calmed down enough to talk to him.

Harry puttered around downstairs for a little while. Most everything he owned was packed away in boxes. They only had the essentials still out in the kitchen. Many of Harry's unneeded things would be donated to a charity shop, as the new house was very small and they wouldn't need much. Ruth wasn't very attached to most of her things, as the items she'd really loved hadn't survived her exile. The few things Harry had salvaged for her were already packed up and waiting in storage from when they'd emptied her flat and sold it back to MI-5, since the Service had given her the registered safehouse upon her tragic return. Ruth hadn't been sorry to see the little flat go.

They'd be moving to Ruth's new house at the end of the month. Her doctor was in London, so they wanted to wait till her last checkup before leaving the city. Harry would be keeping his house, at Ruth's insistence—just in case they ever needed it—so a lot of their things would stay there in storage and they'd leave the basics for their use whenever they stayed in London. But Harry was eager to leave. He had finally seen the new house, when he and Ruth had driven out to see it on the day she signed the final papers, and he'd completely fallen in love. Every bit of it was so quintessentially Ruth. He could imagine them there together, just the way she'd described that horrible day when she lay bleeding. But their dreams were coming true now. That green door with its peeling paint would greet them every single day, and Harry couldn't wait.

The sound of the water upstairs had stopped. But none of the normal sounds of Ruth getting out of the shower and walking around the bedroom could be heard. Harry deduced what was going on and went about making some tea.

Ruth was lying in a relaxing bubble bath when she heard a knock at the bathroom door. "May I come in?" he asked. "I've made tea for you."

"I'm in the bath, Harry," she informed him.

"I thought as much. Shall I wait for you to finish, then?"

She sighed. "No, come in." They were tempting fate, but at this point, she couldn't quite care.

Harry opened the door and brought in a tray of tea things. "Sorry to disturb."

"I wouldn't let you in if you were disturbing me, though I don't know how good of an idea this is, given our earlier conversation," she warned.

"That's precisely why I wanted to speak to you now, like this."

Ruth watched as he placed the tray down by the sink. His eyes darted to the bubbles barely covering the intimate parts of her body, but he quickly looked back to her face. "You're sure this is alright?" Ruth asked. For her part, she couldn't very well do much, still knowing her body wasn't quite match fit yet. And she was stuck in the bath, unable to run away from him.

"I'm not a monster, Ruth, I think I can control myself sufficiently," he replied darkly. Harry handed her the teacup and took one for himself before lowering himself to the floor.

"Be careful, Harry."

"I'm not that frail!" he protested.

"I wouldn't think you are. But we can't both of us be injured, then where would we be?" she replied prudently.

Harry just sighed, "I'm fine, Ruth."

She didn't respond immediately, taking a sip of her tea instead. "What did you want to talk to me about?" she asked.

"I've been thinking about our earlier conversation, and I wanted to propose a thought."

"Alright."

"We have two weeks before the all-clear. We have seventeen days before we move into the new house. What do you think about waiting until we move? That way we can make sure it's a momentous occasion, and not just sex because we can. We can spend our first night in our new house making love in our new bed," he suggested.

Ruth took another sip of her tea, thinking.

"Not a good idea?" Harry asked, nervous that his seemingly romantic plan wasn't being well received.

"Well, it's a lot of pressure, don't you think? What if it doesn't go well? What if it's awful and then for the rest of our lives, we're forced to remember our first night in our house together as the night we first had disappointing sex?"

Harry nearly burst out laughing, but that would have been the worst thing he could do. As it was, he choked a bit on his tea. "Ruth, what on earth makes you think it wouldn't go well? You're the one who's pointed out my honeytrap skills. You must know I'll find a way to please you."

"Yes, I know that, but…"

Her earlier comment echoed in his mind. _It's not you I'm worried about_. "Oh no, you don't possibly think that you'd disappoint me, do you?" he asked in disbelief.

She gazed into her teacup, unable to meet his eyes. "Well, it is possible. My body hasn't exactly been in the best shape recently. Even if I ever did have any good instincts, I might not be able to act on them as well as I would have. But that's just it, isn't it?"

"What is?"

Ruth did finally look at him now. "Harry, I've fantasized about what we'd be like together just as much as you have. And since I've been recovering, I just don't know what I'll be able to do. I could be completely fine and it will be wonderful, but I could move the wrong way and hurt myself, or things that I used to like don't feel the same or any number of things. The point is that I don't know what will happen, and because of that, I don't like that there's so much pressure and buildup to our being together," she finally admitted.

"You'd rather we have a bit of a trial run, once we're able? Just rip off the bandage, as it were?"

"That is a wholly unromantic statement."

He sighed, "Frankly, Ruth, I don't quite know what you want from me in all this. You want it to be special but not too special, spontaneous and natural but you want to know what to expect. You're too in your head, which I think we can agree is your fatal flaw, and I can't do anything to help you yet!"

Ruth could see Harry was just as exasperated over the situation as she was. Now would ordinarily be the time that she would make an excuse and run away so she could work through everything in her mind all by herself. But she was trapped in the bath and the bubbles were rapidly disappearing. "Hang on," she said, realizing what he'd said. "You said you can't do anything to help me _yet_. Why not yet?"

"Because," he replied matter-of-factly, "as soon as I'm allowed, I promise I'll get you out of your head by making your body shatter with so much pleasure, you'll forget everything but my name."

Her jaw dropped, and the teacup nearly fell out of her hand. Ruth felt warmth tingle between her thighs. She crossed her legs tightly to dispel the ache that Harry couldn't satisfy yet.

He continued, "However it happens and whenever it happens, Ruth, I have no doubt that it will be wonderful. I love you with all my heart, and there's no way you could disappoint me. We'll have the rest of our lives to explore with each other, so wherever it starts, we'll only be better."

Ruth gave a strangled little laugh.

Harry was mildly offended. "What's that for?"

"You love me."

"Of course I do."

"Yes, I know, but you've never said it before."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, Harry, a woman remembers the first time a man says he loves her."

Harry just smiled quietly. He knew very well that he hadn't said it to her. The first time he'd tried to say it, she'd made him leave it as something wonderful that was never said. He'd promised himself that when he did finally tell her those words, the words that had been true in his heart since the day of Danny Hunter's death, it would be a beautiful, special, meaningful declaration worthy of how powerfully he felt for her. But this admission here and now seemed just as fitting. "I love you, Ruth," he proclaimed softly.

"And I love you, Harry," she replied. "Though I'm sure you already know that."

"I shouldn't think you'd be here if you didn't."

"Quite right. But now I think you should leave the bathroom."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because I'm very close to dragging you into this bath with me but I don't think my doctor would approve and I don't think we want to do anything within the next two weeks to slow my recovery process."

Harry laughed, "Indeed. I'll take your tea, if you're finished with it."

She nodded and handed him the teacup as he hauled his body off the floor. "Kiss me before you go," she requested.

He leaned down to press a kiss to her lips and caught a glimpse of her bare breasts under the water. He groaned with desire as he kissed her and quickly took the tea tray out. Ruth watched him go with a slight giggle, knowing what had just happened and feeling equally tortured by it. But it was only for two more weeks.


	6. Chapter 6

Ruth hadn't expected what it would feel like. After nearly three months, she was finally off all her medications and cleared to resume her life. There were no restrictions anymore. She was alive, and she was with Harry, and they were finally free to actually start their life together. In two days they'd be moving into their new house. It was all finally happening.

As the news sunk in, Ruth got more and more excited. She was giddy and grinning as they departed from her doctor for the last time. As they walked back to the car, she was nearly skipping. She held Harry's hand tight and snuggled his arm affectionately. She couldn't keep her hands off him. Because there was no reason to anymore.

For his part, Harry was pleased to see her so happy, finally. The worries she'd been harboring through her entire recovery were weighing her down. He was just so bloody relieved that she was alive and they were together, that the long road of healing didn't really bother him in the least. Yes, he'd been frustrated by the lack of consummation of their relationship, but he knew it was only a matter of time. No longer did he pray for 'if.' Rather, he merely needed to be patient for 'when.' Harry had waited for Ruth to commit to a relationship with him for eight years. A few months where he still got to hold her in his arms and spend all his days and night with her was a relative joy.

When they got in the car, Ruth didn't even let Harry put on his seatbelt. She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her, kissing him deeply.

Harry eagerly reciprocated, tangling his fingers in her hair and racing her lips with his tongue. But eventually, he had to pull away. "Slow down, Ruth," he said breathlessly.

"But we don't need to anymore," she reminded him with mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Well I need you to. We don't have to rush. We have time. Let's go home and have a toast in celebration, alright?"

"Yes, that's probably better. It wouldn't be too terribly romantic for me to take you in the car."

Harry laughed and gave her one last kiss. "Another time, perhaps," he murmured. He adjusted himself in the driver's seat and began the journey back to the house. It was rather distracting, however, as Ruth's fingers traced patterns on his thigh as he drove.

It was a bit early in the afternoon for it, but Harry couldn't be bothered. As soon as they got into the house, he opened the bottle of wine he'd been saving just for this special occasion. Ruth was comfortably curled up on the sofa when he brought her a glass. "No champagne? What sort of celebratory toast is this?" she teased.

"I think you'll find this is much more fitting," he replied somewhat cryptically. He clinked his glass against hers. "To you, Ruth, for your hard-fought recovery. And to us, for finally getting our happy ending."

Ruth gave a wry smile and looked away from him with a slight blush, indicating to Harry that she had precisely the same thoughts that he did about what sort of happy ending they'd have tonight. She took a sip of white wine and gasped. "Oh Harry!"

He grinned proudly. She remembered. The white burgundy they'd shared on their first date. Actually, their only proper date. His face fell upon the realization. "Tomorrow night, we're going out."

"We're what?" The mood had changed so quickly, she was trying to keep up.

"Tomorrow is our last night in London, so I'm going to take you to the nicest restaurant I can think of. It's about time we had a proper date again. We can have dinner and walk along the river and this time I can do a lot more thank just give you a small kiss goodnight at the door."

"A happy ending, perhaps?" she quipped.

He chuckled. "I wouldn't dare be presumptuous, a lady like you."

Ruth settled back on the sofa, drinking her wine, watching him. "I can't quite believe it sometimes," she thought aloud, "that you're really here with me. That after everything, we still managed to find our way to each other."

"Took us long enough," he grumbled.

"I will take about sixty percent of the blame. But no more," she insisted.

"I suppose that's fair." Harry sighed, taking another large sip of wine. "I really do love you, Ruth. Have done for a long time. And honestly, it feels so foreign to have ever lived a life before I loved you."

She nodded. "I know what you mean. This really is the beginning, isn't it? For us, I mean."

"It certainly is," he agreed quietly.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they quietly drank their wine. Harry got up to refill their glasses and to start on dinner.

"I know it's a celebratory night, but we'll just do leftovers tonight, eh?"

"We've still got some of that curry, haven't we?"

"Yeah, I'm heating it now," he replied.

Ruth pushed herself up from the sofa. "Best move into the kitchen, then." She wobbled slightly. "Oh gosh, I suddenly remembered I haven't had a drop of alcohol since I got stabbed."

Harry appeared at her side in an instant. "Take it easy, darling."

She turned to him sharply, opening her mouth and closing it again quickly, a strange expression on her face.

"What's wrong?"

"You've never called me that before. Darling."

Harry was suddenly uneasy. "Oh. Would you rather I didn't? It just sort of slipped out."

Ruth frowned. "I don't know. I don't know if I like being called anything other than my name."

"Sorry, I'll…"

"But it's rather nice. From you."

Not quite knowing what to say, Harry merely snuck in a quick kiss. Ruth was smiling, and that was all that mattered.

They had a lovely dinner without much fuss about it. Harry insisted on doing the washing up. Ruth finished up her wine and told Harry to meet her in the living room. She had every intention of sprawling seductively on the sofa to entice Harry into letting her continue what she'd started in the car that afternoon.

But when Harry joined her in the living room, he found her fast asleep. Passed out, more like. He sighed, sitting on the edge of the sofa and brushing her hair out of her face. "Too much wine, darling," he murmured. Now that he'd begun using the endearment for her, he found he quite liked it. She was so very dear and darling to him, this brilliant and strong and somewhat odd love of his. Harry sat there, tracing the lines of her beautiful face as she slept peacefully.

Eventually he knew he had to make a move. He got everything in the house ready for the evening, turning out the lights and making sure everything was put away and so forth. He even went upstairs and laid out Ruth's pajamas and turned down their bed. The last thing he did was return to the sofa and wake her up. He hated to do it, but Harry knew very well that he wouldn't be able to carry her up the stairs. He was nearly sixty years old and had a bad knee to boot. Carrying a grown woman, small as she might be, up a flight of stairs was far more than he could handle. "Wake up, Ruth," he whispered, gently shaking her. She groaned with displeasure. "Time for bed."

He helped her stand and shuffle up to the bedroom. She was still half-unconscious. As he assisted in getting her undressed, Harry mused upon the fact that he had intended to undress her in a very different manner tonight. But the best laid plans and all that…

Ruth had passed out again as soon as she flopped down on the bed. Harry brushed his teeth and undressed down to just his trunks before getting into bed with her. Even if they didn't have sex tonight, Harry had every intention of holding her in his arms all night. Ruth's deep, even breaths lulled him to sleep quite quickly.

A sliver of light escaped into the bedroom through a crack in the curtains. It landed right on Ruth's face. She blinked awake in annoyance. Her tongue felt like cotton and her whole body was heavy. It took her a moment to remember what the day before had been, what had happened and how she ended up here. All she could really remember was finishing dinner with Harry and going to lie down on the sofa. With a soft groan, she realized what must have happened. She wasn't used to drinking, and all that wine had ruined her. And once Ruth realized she was wearing her pajamas, she knew they had only slept the night before. It was just as well. Ruth would have hated to not remember her first time with Harry. He'd assured her many times over that it would be good, and she had gotten her hopes up.

She rolled over and watched Harry sleep beside her. So calm and quiet. He always looked so soft as he slept. It was the most beautiful thing to her, to see him truly at peace. It had been so very rare for her Harry in the years she'd known him. Ruth smiled to herself. Her Harry. He was hers, she knew. She'd finally gotten around to accepting it and trusting it, that she had somehow managed to steal Harry's heart as he'd so stolen hers. They belonged to each other. They belonged together.

Overcome with her love for the man whose bed she shared, Ruth got an idea. She silently slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. She freshened herself up a bit and stripped her body bare. Once she was completely naked, Ruth tiptoed back into bed. She might not have gotten to have a happy night with Harry, but heaven help her, they'd have a happy morning.

Ruth pulled the covers back to reveal Harry in all his glory. He wore nothing but his trunks, and she was glad for it. Her gaze raked over his body appreciatively. Harry looked his age, she supposed. A bit tired and scarred and well-covered in his middle-aged spread. But he was broad and strong and powerful in all the ways that counted. And she loved him, and to her mind, he was quite the most beautiful man in all the world.

Trying not to giggle with excited anticipation, Ruth crawled on top of him, settling herself on his lap with her knees on either side of his hips. Harry shifted slightly beneath her but remained asleep. Time for the wakeup. Ruth leaned down, pressing her bare breasts against his chest and raining delicate kisses upon his cheeks and nose and chin and jaw.

Harry began to awaken. There was a weight on him. Feathery touches on his face. And unbeknownst to his conscious mind, he was getting hard. He reached his hand up to rub his eyes into wakefulness. Ruth sat up to avoid getting accidentally hit by his half-asleep limbs. She bit her bottom lip to keep quiet, and she waited.

When he could find a way to open his eyes, Harry looked up and saw the bluest blue he'd ever seen. That color existed in one place and one place alone: Ruth's eyes.

"Good morning, my love," Ruth greeted softly.

Harry's heart skipped a beat, for a variety of reasons. He'd let a term of endearment slip the night before, and Ruth must have given quite a bit of thought into what she'd like to use in return. 'My love' seemed a better choice than he could have asked for. But perhaps more importantly at the moment, Ruth was entirely naked and wiggling on his lap. He'd never seen a more delicious sight in all his life. "A very good morning," he replied with a smile. His voice was gravelly from sleep, but his mind and body woke quickly. "Kiss me," he requested.

Ruth beamed smiling as she leaned down over him once more, placing her forearms on his pillow on either side of his head and firmly pressing her lips to his. Harry's large hands traced up her thighs and hips and waist and settled on her back, hugging her close to him. As soon as she came up for air, he rolled them over so he could hover above her body. Ruth began to laugh happily. "I love you." The words fell from her lips unhindered. Something that had taken years and years to say had become almost mundane in its regularity. But the frequency of the statement never seemed to diminish the thrill it gave her to tell Harry she loved him, to see his eyes sparkle with joy, and to hear him say it back.

"And I love you," he replied before giving her a searing kiss. Her mouth opened to him without his prompting and their tongues tangled sensuously together. Ruth racked her nails over his back as she writhed beneath him and moaned softly into his mouth. There would be no cold shower or screaming into a pillow this time; no holding back at all anymore.

Harry wasn't quite sure where to start. He wanted her so badly, his mind was in a complete fog of lust. For years he'd fantasized and imagined what it would be like to have Ruth, what he'd do, what she'd taste like, what sort of noises she'd make. But now that the time had finally come, every single idea he'd ever had seemed to float out of his mind. All that existed was Ruth, here and now, and his utter undying love for her.

For starters, he began to kiss down her neck, his tongue tracing her tendons, his teeth nipping at the curve of her collarbone, until he reaches her full, pert breasts. "Christ, you're perfect," he breathed. He didn't give Ruth any opportunity to reply before taking her hardened nipple between his teeth and sucking hard. She arched into his touch and gave a high-pitched gasp of pleasure. Harry alternated his attentions, delighting in every sound and every movement she made. He made his way lower, tracing his tongue over her fresh scar and pressing soft, reverent kisses to her.

Ruth, however, was getting impatient. They had waited long enough. She reached down to push Harry's trunks off his hips. Her hand found his cock, already hard for her. She let her palm slide lightly down his shaft and back up before her fingers curled around his thickness. Harry got distracted from her breasts and groaned loudly. Ruth bit her bottom lip, trying not to burst out laughing with her pride in making him so unhinged like this.

Harry backed out of her grasp and sat up to pull his trunks off and toss them over the side of the bed. He gazed down at Ruth, flushed and wanton.

She watched his eyes roam her body. They were dark and hungry for her. The longing in his expression nearly made her shiver with arousal. "Harry," she whined, reaching for him, letting him know that she wanted him.

Without much more pretense, Harry lined himself up with her entrance, rubbing against her and spreading her wetness. She was practically dripping for him, and Harry had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself and not come at that thought alone. But Ruth was waiting, and he refused to leave her with anticipation for too much longer. Gently, he pushed inside her, shallow at first, then all the way out and slightly deeper. He continued with agonizing slowness until he thrust completely inside her. Ruth shifted her hips to accommodate him. She was already breathing heavily and trembling. Harry could feel her walls fluttering around his cock, and again he needed to exercise restraint. He knew he couldn't last too long, but he couldn't disappoint. Harry began to move inside her, setting a steady pace. Ruth wrapped her thighs around his waist, crossing her ankles at his lower back to pull him in as deep as he could go.

She felt incredible. Better than anything he'd ever experienced or imagined. For Harry, perfection in every sense existed only one place, and it was Ruth Evershed. The way she felt and moved, and the way she moaned his name. Her eyes fluttered closed as sensation overtook her, but she struggled to keep her eyes glued to his.

Ruth had never known such perfect bliss. She'd thought that Harry would take her hard and fast, matching his powerful and insistent nature, but here, his tender and loving side won the day. The deep devotion and care he always showed her was at work. She thought she might weep with the beauty of his love coursing through her. He filled and stretched her, reaching deep into where she needed him most. He shifted his weight, changing their angle slightly and added friction in just the right place. Ruth felt her climax build her up and up until she snapped, crying out his name as she came.

Harry was clenched in the vice grip of her orgasm and came only a moment after she did. He stilled inside her and collapsed, burying his face in her neck. He tried to keep his full weight off her, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to move. Even as he was going soft inside her, he remained nearly comatose on top of her.

As she struggled to catch her breath, Ruth stroked his hair, damp from sweat, and traced lazy patterns on his back. They couldn't stay like this forever, but for now, it was perfect. Everything was absolutely perfect.

Eventually, he was able to roll off her, resting on his back beside her. "I think you're fully healed, Ruth," he quipped.

"Nothing more healing to body and soul than that, I'd say," she replied with a light laugh.

"If you'll give me just a minute, I'll be ready again."

"Really?" she asked in slight disbelief, rolling onto her side to look at him.

Harry chuckled breathlessly. "Trying to be optimistic."

She laughed in return. "Oh, you are wonderful."

"You haven't seen anything yet," he assured her. He used his remaining strength to turn over and press her back onto the mattress again. Harry didn't waste a second before delving between her legs, lapping up their juices and teasing her to arousal again.

"Jesus, Harry!" she swore. Ruth reached out and clenched her fists in the bedsheets as her hips bucked uncontrollably against his face. Just when she thought the onslaught of his gorgeous mouth couldn't possibly take her any higher, Harry plunged two thick fingers inside her, thrusting and curling in rhythm with his tongue. Ruth shattered with a visceral scream, a noise she was certain she'd never made before and wasn't even certain she realized she was making in that moment.

Harry carried on through her climax before he slowed and eventually stilled. With a very self-satisfied grin, he propped himself up just enough to rest his head on her soft, fleshy thigh. Ruth smiled, still breathing heavily in euphoria. Her fists unclenched, and she reached down to stroke his cheek. And though they'd just woken up, Harry and Ruth dozed off once more, this time in very sated slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

"That's it! The last one!" Ruth announced triumphantly, tossing the empty cardboard box over the banister of the stairs and grinning as it landed below with a thud.

Harry couldn't even bear to chide her for throwing boxes around, though he found such antics childish and messy and wholly unnecessary; no, he was far too delighted to see Ruth looking so happy. He hadn't seen her so enthusiastic in quite some time. Not since before her injury, before the tragedies of losing friends, before the horror of losing her husband, before the heartbreak of her exile. Harry suddenly realized that the Ruth he was seeing in front of him was the closest he'd seen to the young Ruth he'd first fell in love with, the Ruth he'd believed was gone. He marveled at her upon the realization. "You're happy," he noted.

She grinned. "Of course I'm happy! It's been nearly an entire month since we got here, and we have finally emptied the very last box. We are officially moved in! Aren't you happy, Harry?"

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss to the tip of her nose. "I'm very happy, darling," he assured her.

"We should celebrate," Ruth declared.

"I quite agree. Shall I see what we've got in? I think I could manage a lasagna," Harry offered.

"That sounds perfect. You get started on that. I'm going to pop down to the shops and see if I can't spend a bit too much money on some champagne," she replied with a sparkling smile.

Harry laughed happily as Ruth flitted down the stairs.

"And I'll even take this box out, since I know it'll annoy you if I leave it here as the symbolic trophy it is," she called back up to him.

He was glad she'd said something, since it would have infuriated him to no end to go back downstairs to find an empty cardboard box in the middle of the hallway. Their new house didn't have much space to begin with, so leaving superfluous items strewn about would clutter the place up before they knew it. Ruth had a tendency for it, clutter and chaos and general disorder. Harry often felt that living in a space with Ruth was like the external expression of the inside of her brain. There was just so _much_.

Surely they were still in the honeymoon phase, if they wanted to call it that. All of Ruth's annoying quirks and habits like leaving things in disorder and constantly running late all the time and getting so absorbed in a book that she left the oven on and nearly burned down their brand new kitchen, all seemed so charming to him right now. For now, he was still in the state of utter disbelief that he was now living here, in a house, in Suffolk, with the woman he loved. And love her he did.

In their month together since arriving in the little house with the green door and its peeling paint, Harry Pearce knew he'd never been happier in all his life. He got to go to sleep every night with Ruth in his arms, got to make love to her whenever the mood struck them both—which was alarmingly frequent for the time being—and got to adjust to a life without worries of death and destruction. Everything was very quiet and calm, and Harry loved it. Ruth had worried that he'd be bored, and some days he was. It was strange to exist without purpose, with no need to put on a suit and tie and pace in his red-walled office on the Grid. He went for two, even three days at a time without reading about or watching or listening to the news. But he'd been focused on unpacking their things, on making this house a home for Ruth and himself. They weren't entirely finished yet, there was still some furniture to buy, but the boxes were unpacked, and their new life was taking shape. He'd find something to do to pass the time, something to amuse himself when he could no longer delight in picking up Ruth's little messes and watching her exist, overwhelmed by the idea that this was all actually real.

The doorbell sounded, a strange old-fashioned yet mechanical echoing sound, and Harry was distracted from his pointless pondering. He made his way downstairs to see who was bothering him now. Perhaps Ruth had forgotten her keys.

But it wasn't Ruth, and it thankfully wasn't a nosy neighbor either. It was a gruff deliveryman with a very large box and an even larger truck parked in front of the house. "Evershed?" the man asked.

"This is the place," Harry answered. He signed his name to the page and ushered the man inside with the box on a dolly. "Where's this from?"

"Furniture Emporium," came the response.

"Right. Thank you," Harry said, indicating that the box could be left in the middle of the living room. He locked the door behind the deliveryman and went to see what on earth Ruth had ordered now. Not knowing what it was, he couldn't very well put it anywhere yet. And he wasn't quite comfortable unboxing whatever it was when Ruth wasn't home. Felt strangely like opening a Christmas present on December twenty-third.

And so, rather than fret about the mysterious box, Harry left it there and made his way into the kitchen. He'd told Ruth he'd get started on the lasagna.

Meanwhile, Ruth herself was walking back from town. It was only a few blocks to the main road where the shops were located; an easy walk most days, and a very quick drive when the weather was bad. Today was a beautiful day, though Ruth's mood had more to do with her perception than the admittedly overcast sky. She nearly felt compelled to skip down the lane towards home.

Home, what a lovely thought. This house was the first proper home she'd claimed for herself in a long time. That flat given to her by Five, that was where she lived for nearly three years before she moved in to Harry's London house during her recovery. Before that, George's villa outside Polis was a place she called home. Her mood darkened at the memory. Such thoughts were still too close to bring her any comfort, only guilt and regret, even now. The last home Ruth had in England was her lovely little house in London that she'd been able to purchase for herself upon getting the permanent hire after Harry renewed her secondment to Section D. It was a lifetime ago now, that beautiful little house with the stained glass door and Fidget prowling around on the enormous sofa where she'd curl up and watch The Red Shoes whenever the mood struck her. She wondered briefly if Harry had seen that film, if he liked it. She hadn't watched it in years.

But recently, in this new house in Suffolk that they'd spent the last month turning into a home, Ruth had started to feel like her old self for the first time in a very, very long time. Perhaps it was because terror and tragedy were no longer her daily companions. Perhaps it was because she was finally living the fantasy she'd dreamed of when Harry had first asked her out to dinner. Or perhaps it was because she finally felt safe and happy on a regular basis for the first time since the day Mik Maudsley dove in front of the Tube. It was most likely the combination of all those things that finally helped Ruth feel like her soul was on the mend.

That thought put a serene smile on Ruth's face and a gentle calm on her heart as she unlocked that green front door, struggling slightly to hold the bottle of champagne in its paper bag under her arm as she did so.

"Harry?" she called out. She could smell the delicious scent of garlic and onion and oregano wafting through the house.

"Kitchen!" he called back, as though she had to guess.

She came through and greeted him, "Hello, my love, how's dinner coming?"

"Very well," Harry replied. He was, at that very moment, putting the casserole dish full of layered cheese and noodle and sauce into the oven and setting the timer before he turned to her. "Your mission was successful, I take it?"

Ruth nodded. "It was indeed. I'll chill this in the freezer for a moment, shall I?"

"Yes, do that, then come through to the living room and tell me what the hell you've bought."

It took Ruth a moment to think back to what he was talking about. And then it dawned on her. "Oh! Was it delivered today?"

"I don't know. It's a bloody big box, so maybe you can tell me what it is," he grumbled. But one look at Ruth's excited expression softened him. Whatever it was, she was quite pleased about it.

"Go get the boxcutter so we can open it," she instructed. "And I'll have you know, I bought this for you. With us in mind."

That was a riddle Harry had no interest in trying to decipher. He found the boxcutter and returned to where Ruth was waiting. "Shall I?"

"Please."

Harry cut open the box and removed the plastic and foam wrapping to reveal what was inside. "It's an armchair," he noted.

Ruth nodded. "I hoped that could be your chair. Do you like it?"

He took a moment to regard the overstuffed leather chair. It was rather traditional in its design, but the leather wasn't a stained brown, but rather a dyed charcoal gray. It matched rather nicely with the rest of the furniture Ruth had picked out for the living room, all in various shades of gray. He ran his hand along the arm, feeling the buttery soft texture. Nothing like the stiff and unforgiving chairs of that style that Harry used to sit in at his Club. "It's beautiful, Ruth. Thank you. It's a bit big though, isn't it?" He noticed that the seat of the chair seemed much wider than what he was otherwise used to.

A sly smile spread on Ruth's lips. "Yes, I ordered this model for that reason."

"Are you expecting me to expand in my retirement?" he asked in mock indignation.

But Ruth just continued to smile, her eyes sparkling excitedly. "Why don't you sit down and I'll pour the champagne and show you what I had in mind, hmm?"

She disappeared back into the kitchen and Harry cleared away as much of the box and wrappings as he could and moved his new chair into where it would live beside the sofa, facing toward the windows of the garden and still within view of the television. When he was happy with the placement, Harry sat down as Ruth had instructed. It really was far too wide for him. That would take some getting used to. Still, it was quite comfortable, and it looked very nice in the room. Harry couldn't complain.

Ruth returned carrying two flutes of champagne. "Here we are. And don't you look just perfect?" She handed him his glass and clinked hers to it gently.

"To us," Harry toasted softly.

Ruth merely nodded and then drank her champagne down in three fast swallows.

"Everything alright, Ruth?" he asked with concern.

She hiccuped slightly from drinking the bubbles so fast. "I'll pour another glass later. I want to demonstrate the proper use of the chair."

Without further ado, Ruth put her empty glass and Harry's half-full glass down on the coffee table and hiked up her skirt and straddled Harry's lap. Her knees had ample space on the chair cushion on either side of his thighs. She grinned with self-satisfaction as she draped her arms around his neck.

Harry just gaped at her. "Ruth, did you…"

"Did I buy a chair for you with the express intent of being able to comfortably sit just like this? Yes, I did." As a demonstration of her intent, she wiggled slightly, grinding her hips against him, feeling him get hard beneath her. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "And the leather is washable, so we don't have to worry about making a mess." Ruth punctuated her statement by taking his earlobe between her teeth and gently sucking on it.

Harry shivered and felt his erection begin to throb against her thigh. "Christ, Ruth, you'll be the death of me," he groaned.

"Oh hush," she scolded lightly before her lips captured his. Finally, she felt Harry's big, strong hands encircle her waist. He kissed her passionately, his tongue surging into her mouth. His embrace was nearly crushing, but he guided the friction of her hips masterfully.

Their foreplay was interrupted by a chime. "Dinner's ready," Harry announced, pulling away from her and breathing raggedly.

Ruth took a moment to collect herself, trying not to focus on the aching wetness between her legs that she desperately wanted to sate. "Right. Yes."

They both got up feeling a bit shaky, but their lust would cool for now. After all, they lived together, and they were retired. They had all the time in the world. She collected her empty glass and made her way in to the kitchen to refill it. Harry took a few deep breaths to calm down before he grabbed his champagne and followed her. "Thank you for my new chair, Ruth, I love it," he told her. He pressed an affectionate but chaste kiss to her cheek. "And I love you," he added.

Ruth felt as though her heart would take wing and fly right out of her chest. She was so in love and so happy, and it finally seemed like nothing could ever get in their way now.


	8. Chapter 8

The early morning sun shone brightly through the gap in the curtains that morning, which Ruth found to be a thoroughly mocking gesture by Mother Nature. She rolled over away from the window toward Harry's side of the bed. He'd already gotten up earlier. He claimed he'd always been an early riser, which Ruth couldn't understand for the life of her. Feeling the anxiety curl in her stomach and rise up her throat, she sighed heavily and shut her eyes tight.

A little while later, she heard the heavy steps up the stairs to indicate Harry moving about. He opened the bedroom door gently. "Ruth, would you like me to save you some breakfast? I made scrambled eggs and bacon."

"No, thank you," she mumbled, pulling the covers over her shoulder.

"Is everything alright?"

Ruth just grumbled incoherently.

Harry came further into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He lightly pushed Ruth's hair away from her face. "What's the matter, darling?" he asked softly.

She rolled over slightly to look up at him. "Nothing." It was the truth, there was nothing the matter. There was no reason for her to feel this way. But Ruth still couldn't manage to prevent the thoroughly pathetic tone of her own voice.

It was clear that Harry was concerned with that frown etched into his face, his pouty lips curved down and his brow deeply furrowed. "Do you feel alright? Are you in pain?" he asked, still stroking her hair.

"No."

"Do you want to get out of bed? It's nearly ten."

"No."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

She just shrugged in response. She had no intention of kicking him out of his own bed, and it really did feel quite nice what he was doing with her hair.

"Right," he replied with determination.

He pulled away, and Ruth immediately felt bereft of his touch. She hadn't told him to go, but surely her apathy had driven him away anyway. It was only a matter of time, she realized. Ruth closed her eyes again with another heavy sigh.

But the next thing she knew, the weight shifted on the bed and a burst of cold air hit her under the bedsheets. "Budge over," he grumbled.

Ruth scooted back to her side. "What are you doing?"

Harry, undressed to only his vest and trunks, got back into bed and explained, "You didn't tell me to go, so I'm going to stay. And I'm going to hold you in my arms until you tell me why you're spending all morning in bed. It isn't like you, but I know better than to push, so I'll be patient, but I'm going to be right here whenever you're ready." And with that, Harry pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin, and held her tight.

A bone-deep sense of comfort and bliss settled over Ruth. She breathed in his scent, smiling at the hint of spicy cologne he put on after shaving each morning mixed with his natural musk and the faint lingerings of bacon from his breakfast. "I love you," she murmured, snuggling as close to him as she could and falling back to sleep.

Ruth was awoken again by her own sweat making her pajamas cling to her body and the air stifling her every breath. She wriggled free of the covers and of Harry's arms. "Ruth?" he asked worriedly.

"I'm burning up and I can't breathe!" She sat up, taking deep breaths of the cooler air and pushing the sheets and duvet off her. Once she was sufficiently uncovered, she flopped back down on the bed, staring at the midday shadows on the ceiling. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

"Why are you sorry? If you were hot, my holding you certainly wasn't helping," he replied understandingly.

She turned her head to face him. He was still lying on his side, but he had his head on his hand, propped up on his elbow as he watched her. "No, I'm sorry for all this. I should have known this was coming. But I seem to always forget about it until it comes back."

"Until what comes back?"

"Whatever it is about me that can't get out of bed."

"Well, sometimes it's nice to have a relaxing lie in."

She chuckled humorlessly. "This isn't relaxing. This is crippling. This isn't not wanting to get out of bed. This is being unable to get out of bed."

"This has happened before?"

"Oh yes."

"In all the time we worked together, you never once took a sick day. You were on the Grid every single day you were rostered, and even some you weren't, when the occasion called for it."

"Well that was different. I needed to get out of bed. My stupid feelings were nothing compared to the work. You needed me. The team needed me. So I got out of bed. Same thing when I was in school. On days when I couldn't get out of bed but I had an exam? Nothing else for it. Out of bed, Evershed."

He smirked slightly at the rhyme. "You've no reason to get out of bed now," he replied, trying to put the pieces together.

A lump formed in her throat. "Harry, I love you so much, and being with you here has been the happiest I've ever been in all my life, I swear it."

"But you've got no reason to get out of bed anymore. It's alright, Ruth, I'm not offended. I think you spent so much time being concerned with how I'd get on in retirement that you didn't bother thinking about what you're going to do now that we've left London."

"When I was worried about you getting bored, I was a bit preoccupied with other issues. Mainly being sutured within an inch of my life and being sexual frustrated."

Harry laughed merrily. "Well, the former has been resolved and you've got a fading scar to prove it, and as for the latter, I think I've proved that I'm more than capable of assisting whenever you're in need."

Ruth finally gave a proper smile. "Yes, love, you are."

"But unfortunately, I'm far too old to occupy all your time by shagging you, so we've got to think of something else. What are you interested in, d'you think? Do you want to get a job? Malcolm would be more than happy to work up a resume for whatever you'd like to apply for."

"I don't know, I haven't really thought about it."

"Well there's no time like the present. What sorts of jobs have you had before that you liked? Something to keep your mind busy. Something more than just working in a shop or doing clerical work."

The disdain with which Harry said 'clerical work' did not escape Ruth's notice. She'd done clerical work at the hospital in Polis where she'd met George. Harry had said she was made for better things. He was right, but she didn't appreciate him saying it. But for now, she held her tongue.

"Maybe translation work? Or research in a library. There's a local college here, isn't there?" Harry suggested.

"Perhaps. But I don't want to worry about this now, Harry. I'm not in the mood." His pushy attempts at helping were doing more to annoy than assist. The good humor she'd achieved in the last five minutes was rapidly disappearing.

"What are you in the mood for?"

"Staying in bed," she replied darkly. And with that, she turned away from him and shut her eyes again, willing her mind to quiet so she could escape it for just a little while.

She must have fallen asleep again, for when Ruth opened her eyes once more, the light coming through the window had dimmed, and there was a cheese sandwich and a glass of water sitting on her nightstand. Harry wasn't in the room anymore, though she certainly wouldn't have expected him to be. And there, in the early evening, Ruth got out of bed.

She desperately needed the loo. How she'd managed to sleep all night and all day without getting up was astounding. It was nearly six in the evening, and as soon as her bladder was empty, she realized she was starving. She took the plate and cheese sandwich downstairs with her. Ruth took a few grateful bites as she made her way through the house.

There was light coming from the living room. She could see Harry sitting in his chair with a book in his hands, reading quietly by the lamp. Ruth watched him for a moment, munching on the sandwich as his eyes moved across the page, as he scratched his nose, as he turned to the next chapter.

"What are you reading?" she asked, finally drawing attention to herself.

"Wuthering Heights," he replied, looking up at her.

A wry smile crossed her lips. "Are you enjoying it?"

Harry sighed. "Not in the least."

Ruth laughed lightly. She put the last bite of sandwich in her mouth and put the empty plate on the coffee table. She chewed and swallowed before clambering onto Harry's lap. "Thank you," she whispered against his neck.

Harry held her close and kissed her forehead. "I could tell I was getting on your nerves."

"I know, and you were very sweet about it. That sandwich was absolutely perfect."

"I hoped it would be. I just want to take care of you, Ruth, but sometimes I'm not quite sure how."

She pulled back from him, taking his face in her hands and stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. "I know. I know I'm not the easiest person to love. But you do it quite well."

"On the contrary, Ruth, you are exceedingly easy to love. And you're very easy to live with. It's making you happy that's rather difficult."

"I've never been a very happy person."

He opened his mouth to disagree but decided the better of it. "I suppose enthusiasm and happiness are different things."

With those simple words, Ruth felt tears prick her eyes. She just nodded and buried her face in his neck again. She breathed him in deeply, silently thanking the heavens above that she'd miraculously found a man who not only loved her but actually understood her. Harry stayed quiet, just holding her. Eventually she whispered, "Take me to bed, Harry."

"You want to go back to sleep?"

She smirked at him, her eyes sparkling. "No."

Her meaning dawned on him quite quickly. "Oh!" He practically pushed her off him and they both started to laugh as he excitedly took her hand and dragged her back upstairs.

When Harry moved inside her, stroking the deepest part of her, Ruth found herself at peace. She was surrounded by his love, by his desire to satisfy her, by his unparalleled skill. Ruth moaned in appreciation of his efforts, crying out his name as she climaxed around him, Harry crying out hers as he came just after. He rolled off her and nearly passed out on the spot.

Ruth had been sleeping all day, so once she'd recovered, she was wide awake. Harry was snoring deeply beside her. She smiled lovingly at him as she silently got out of bed and put on her dressing gown. She padded on bare feet into the office and opened the laptop on the desk. She curled her feet under her on the chair and set to work.


	9. Chapter 9

"I think I might like to write."

Ruth turned to Harry with a slightly furrowed brow. "Oh? Write what? Certainly not your memoirs. You'll be thrown in prison," she teased.

Harry chuckled and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze as he held it in his own. "No, I think I'd like to write about this. About us, here."

Her nose wrinkled in disapproval. "Surely not about us?"

"Not details, just the places we've gone and how we liked them, advice on how to make the most of it," he explained.

Ruth pondered for a moment as they walked through the Tuileries Gardens. The sky was gray and damp, but everything seemed to sparkle in her eyes. She could see how it could inspire one to write about the beauty and wonder of the place.

He continued on when she didn't respond. "I was thinking that we could take a trip during your breaks. Not do the entire Grand Tour all in one go, but explore here and there when we can?"

She smiled at him. "That sound perfect. And I think you'd make a brilliant travel writer. I can help you with the research, if you like."

"I think you'll be plenty busy once the fall comes around and you're teaching two classes each semester," he pointed out.

"Well they offered me literature or history and I couldn't decide!" she defended.

Harry smirked. "So you said you'd teach both, I know." He pressed a loving kiss to her temple. He had told her many times over to the point that it annoyed her how proud he was of her, how perfect it was that she'd be a university professor in Suffolk. She'd always been good guiding and supporting the younger officers during their last few years on the Grid. It pleased him to no end that she'd found something that excited and interested her that used her skills.

"What a pair we make in our retirement. Me a professor and you a travel writer."

"You're not retired, Ruth, you're just changing careers. I don't think you can properly retire at forty," he reasoned.

"I suppose you're right. It very much felt like retirement, leaving all that behind. But I think this next chapter will be good for us, don't you?"

"What, not worrying about national security and your personal safety and not being constantly threatened by politicians and terrorists alike? Yes, I think this will be good for us."

"You're being facetious."

"No really," he assured her, "We got out in one piece and we're together and that is all that matters to me. I'll be quite content to putter around in the garden and write travel stories and keep the house while you're off molding young minds."

Ruth's eyes twinkled playfully as she remarked, "Gives a new meaning to the phrase 'hot for teacher.'"

Harry burst out laughing, a sound Ruth heard all too infrequently and loved all too much. He pulled her behind a tree and wrapped her in his arms. "I'm very hot for teacher, yes," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

Humming happily against his lips, Ruth kissed him back, running her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and clutching his jacket to hold him close. They prevented themselves from getting too carried away, and Harry rested his forehead against hers. "I still can't quite believe we finally made it to Paris," Ruth remarked quietly, still pressing feathery kisses to his mouth.

"It only took about six years, a faked death, and a stabbing to get us here."

"But we made it. And its just as magical as you promised. I could spend a month here with you and never get tired."

He grinned. "I've only booked us ten days, but I think we can make the next eight count. There are a lot of places I want to show you."

Ruth pulled away from him slightly. "Oh? Like what?"

"I'll confess I've had a bit of a fantasy for most of my life about being in Paris with the woman I love. And for many years now, it's been you who's filled my dreams."

"Who was it before?"

"No one."

She raised her brow curiously, knowing very well that he'd been in Paris with women before, and one in particular who he had claimed to love at the time.

Harry immediately knew what she was silently referring to. "Juliet and I were working, and when we weren't, we were holed up in a hotel room. Sex and adrenaline did not inspire much romantic notion, I promise you. No, these are things I have always thought, 'Wouldn't it be lovely to do this with a wonderful woman?' And now I've got one. The most wonderful woman."

Ruth pressed her lips to his once more. "You're in quite the mood."

"It's the effect of Paris, I think. With you."

She smiled and took his hand, taking him away from their secluded little spot behind the tree and continuing their walk. There were other lovers taking a similar path, hand in hand like she and Harry were. Most of them were much younger. Ruth momentarily wondered what sort of picture she and Harry made to outsiders. He was much older than she, certainly, but he carried such a gravitas about him, his age didn't much show. Or at least not to her. And Ruth knew she'd aged a decade over the last five years, between being on the run during her exile and all the horrific trauma she'd endured after her return to London. She wasn't a vain woman, and she didn't mind the wrinkles and weariness that showed in her face. Perhaps she and Harry looked right together. But regardless, she knew how they felt together, which was absolutely perfect, and that was all that mattered.

In an open courtyard of the gardens, a group of children were gathered watching a marionette show. Ruth and Harry paused to stand in the back to take in the little scene. The puppeteers were quite good, and Ruth was suitably impressed, but she caught sight of Harry, smiling and laughing lightly. He wasn't watching the puppets. He was watching the children. The joy in their expressions and the magic shining in their eyes. Was he thinking of his own children, of their childhoods he'd so severely neglected? Was he transported back to a happy time when Catherine and Graham may have sat and watched a little show in a park like this one? Was he hoping for an opportunity to know his grandchildren, if he should ever have any?

Ruth herself had experienced a year of motherhood—step-motherhood—and found she'd taken to it quite well. But that life hadn't been meant to last, that quiet paradise on Cyprus was destined to be destroyed. George had wanted more children, had asked her if they could try for a baby, but she'd vehemently denied him. For she'd always known it wasn't meant to be, for her to have a baby of her own, to bring a child into this world. Not with him.

She'd had wild fantasies for a time, before her exile, of what it might be like to have Harry's children. But she was too old for that now, and they were both far too tired and far too selfish. This was their time, the two of them. They weren't about to sacrifice that for anything.

But a family, a family would be nice. She and Harry lived in their blissful bubble of love in their perfect little house with the green door, but a happy life was surely meant to be shared. Ruth resolved that, despite the unhappiness both she and Harry had experienced due to their own families, they'd make one of their own.

An image of the future appeared quite clearly in Ruth's mind, of coming home from the university to Harry in the garden, of cooking dinner together, of having friends and family over for holidays, of spending school breaks travelling so Harry could write about it. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Ruth could see a vision for her future that not only made her smile but seemed entirely possible.


	10. Chapter 10

It was pouring rain when Ruth left the university campus. She thanked her lucky stars she'd driven in that day. Usually, if the weather was agreeable, she would walk the mile and a half from home to her lecture hall, but Harry had warned her to take the car and she was ever so pleased she did.

Ruth sat in the car and pulled out her mobile to call home. Harry picked up almost immediately. "Hello," he greeted, a smile evident in his voice.

"Hi, I'm headed home and I wanted to know if you've already got plans for dinner or if I should pick up some Chinese on my way back."

"Chinese sounds perfect, darling, thank you. I got caught up outside, fighting the rains, and I lost track of time."

Ruth chuckled lightly. "Did you succeed against the weather?"

He grumbled in annoyance, "I just planted those tulip bulbs and now they're going to be drowned. Stupid bloody coastal climate."

Once the reality of retirement had really hit him, Harry had gone nearly stir crazy. Ruth was busy preparing for her classes and grading papers, but Harry wasn't similarly occupied. After they'd gotten completely moved in to the new house, he took it upon himself to rescue the overgrown and neglected garden. Ruth would have just left it as it was, though she was never a very orderly type of person the way Harry was. And it turned out, he had quite a green thumb. He could be found out in the garden pulling weeds and trimming hedges and arranging flowerbeds almost every day. He'd finished most of the clearing away before they'd gone to Paris, and he was now in the midst of researching what sort of flowers would be the best for their garden and planting a bit of everything. Harry admitted he was quite surprised at himself, that he'd fallen in love with gardening, but the physicality of the work and the sense of pride and accomplishment that it provided was more fulfilling than he'd imagined. Ruth got the combined benefits of having him kept physically fit and as in a much better mood most days as well as a beautiful garden where she could sit and mark exams in nice weather surrounded by fragrant flowers. And having Harry smell faintly of soil was strangely attractive as well.

"Alright, shall I order our usual items, then?" she asked him, knowing that if she let him, he'd continue to complain about what the rain was doing to his flowers.

"Yes, that's fine. I'll see you when you get here," he replied before hanging up the phone.

Ruth braved the wet streets to the restaurant they liked to order from. The biggest downside to living outside London now was the lack of variety in food options. Their town thankfully had a Chinese restaurant and an Indian place that had the most marvelous curry. But otherwise, they were left with two proper English pubs where they could eat in and the market for whatever they wanted to cook for themselves.

She parked up the street and dashed inside from the car through the rain. "Professor! Hi!" the young man behind the counter greeted.

Ruth grinned. "Hello, Al, how are you?" she asked in return. Al was the son of the restaurant owners and a student in her Nineteenth Century French Literature course. He lived at home and helped out at the restaurant while attending his university courses.

"I'm very good, Professor. Nearly finished annotating The Count of Monte Cristo," he replied with a smile.

"I know you're lying to me, but since I'm here to order food and not lecture you, I suppose I'll let it go for now," she answered with a knowing expression.

Al just laughed. "The usual for you and Mr. Harry?"

"Yes, please. And extra—"

"Extra hot sauce for Mr. Harry, I remember!"

Ruth grinned. A few years ago—even a few months ago—the idea that people out in the world knew about her and Harry and their relationship would have made her wildly uncomfortable, even frightened. But now, such darkness was far behind them. They lived in the country in a little town where people only knew them as Ruth and Harry, the professor and the writer, who liked to talk walks while holding hands and eat together and share a bottle of wine in the middle of the day and lived in the house with the green front door. It was all so simple and elegant, and she loved it.

Al had their order ready before she knew it. Ruth dashed back into the rain to get back to the car as quick as she could. But in an effort to unlock it while holding a huge bag full of Chinese food, she lost her balance and stumbled. One of the takeaway containers fell and exploded all over the sidewalk.

"Oh hell!" Ruth swore under her breath. She quickly put the rest in the car before turning back to try to decide what to do. She couldn't very well just leave all the lo mein in the middle of the walkway. Perhaps she'd go back and tell Al and he could get a broom to help sweep it up.

But when she went back to the mess, she found someone was already cleaning it up. A bedraggled orange cat had already scarfed up most of the food on the ground and had its head stuck inside the carton to get at the rest. Ruth's first instinct was to shoo the cat away, but there was really no purpose. They were both getting rained on, and the feline was being rather helpful.

She watched for a moment and sighed, "Well, I know from experience that those noodles are rather good, so I'm glad one of us can enjoy them. Though I hope this doesn't mean that you aren't getting fed at home." Ruth approached the cat slowly, hoping not to frighten it. "You shouldn't be out in the cold and wet like this. You must be very brave," she said in a gentle tone.

The cat tried to extricate itself from the carton and failed, suddenly beginning to thrash about thanks to the confinement. Ruth scooped the cat up in her arms and took the box off its head. The animal stopped struggling, seemingly quite content to be held. It meowed at Ruth as she pulled lo mein off its nose. She noticed there was no collar of any kind and based on the state of this cat, it hadn't seen the indoors in quite some time.

Content that this was a hungry stray in need of some comfort, she bundled the cat up in her coat and got into the car to drive home.

Harry was sitting in his enormous armchair watching the evening news and enjoying a glass of scotch when he heard the front door open. "Ruth?" he called out.

"Could you give me a hand please?" she called back.

He put his glass down and got up to assist her. "I'm glad you're back, I'm starving."

To his utter surprise, Ruth was soaking wet and her face was flushed and smiling. "The food is in the car. I've got my hands full," she told him

Poking out from her coat was a wet cat. "What on earth have you done?" Harry asked incredulously.

Ruth just beamed. "This is Noodles. I think we should keep him."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. There was just too much to ask. So he went out to get the food from the car. They could discuss this after he'd eaten something.

By the time he returned to the kitchen with the takeaway, Ruth was at the kitchen sink with cat, toweling it off with one of the dishrags.

"You're dripping everywhere and the food is going to get cold," Harry informed her, pausing to watch the inexplicably odd things she was doing.

"Make me up a plate, would you? I'll sit down in a minute."

Harry did as she asked, opening the cartons and spooning some of each onto a couple of plates. "Where's the lo mein?" he asked with a frown.

"I dropped it and Noodles ate it right up. That's how he got his name," she replied, as thought that were a completely ordinary thing to say.

"Ruth, are you telling me that a stray cat ate our dinner and you decided to bring him home?"

She turned to look at him with a concerned expression in her eyes. "Are you really opposed to keeping him? I suppose I could find a shelter for him."

Harry sighed in resignation. "Just don't let him sleep in our bed. Your last cats had this horrible habit of sleeping on my pillows, and it took me months to be able to fall asleep with the smell of cat surrounding me." The memory of taking in Ruth's cats during her exile, both of whom were affectionate and sweet but old and rather annoying, was still somehow fresh in his mind.

Ruth's face lit up. "Thank you, Harry."

"It'll be nice to have an animal in the house," he reasoned.

"I'm just going to jump in the shower so I don't catch my death. You can get acquainted with our new friend," she told him, putting Noodles on the floor and rushing past Harry, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek as she passed him to go upstairs.

Now left alone with the cat, Harry kneeled down, careful to avoid his bad knee, and held out a gentle hand. The animal immediately went right up to him and nuzzled his orange head against Harry's palm. He chuckled pleasantly. "Hello, Noodles," he greeted. "I'm Harry. And you already know Ruth. Now, you're welcome to live with us if you want to. I know Ruth would love you to stay. But just remember that I'm her favorite and I'm the only man who gets to be in bed with her, alright?"

Ruth returned downstairs, feeling warm and clean, and found Harry on the floor with Noodles, her heart soaring to see the man she loved be so wonderfully sweet with the little cat. She realized he must have been like this when he took in her old cats when she'd gone away. Had he sat on the floor with them, snuggling and talking quietly, reminiscing about her while she was gone? Harry had told her after her return that they'd both died almost two years after she left, but he'd kept them until their last days. For all his harshness, his strength, his terrifying brutality thanks to the job he'd held, Harry Pearce was a kind-hearted and gentle man. Yes, he was often a bit bumbling and awkward when it came to such things, but he was soft and loving, and that was how he'd irrevocably captured her heart.

He eventually noticed her standing there. "Oh finally, let's eat," he insisted, hauling himself up.

"Need a hand?"

"I'm alright," he grunted, embarrassed at the effort it took him to just get off the bloody floor. That knee was going to have to be dealt with one of these days. "I've got to wash my hands. Please start eating," he insisted.

Ruth sat down at the table, smiling to feel Noodles nuzzle against her ankles. "Oh, and Al remembered your extra hot sauce."

"Brilliant, thank you." He dried his hands and came over to the table. Ruth was about to take her first bite of kung pao chicken when he stopped her. "Hang on a moment."

"What now?"

He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss. "I haven't done that all day. Hello," he murmured.

She smiled and kissed him again. "Hello, my love. Now sit down and eat some cold Chinese. Mind the cat, he's under the table."


	11. Chapter 11

Ruth had her head resting on Harry's chest while they snuggled on the sofa in front of the television. They were spending a lazy afternoon flipping channels when Harry found The Thin Man and desperately wanted to watch it. Ruth very much enjoyed the film as well and hadn't seen it in some time, so she happily agreed.

The old black and white movie was just as charming as she remembered, but Ruth found herself paying less attention to the screen and much more to the man beside her. He was enjoying so much, smiling and laughing. Sometimes he let out a sharp bark of a laugh at something witty William Powell said, or sometimes he'd give his wheezy belly laugh Ruth loved so much when Myrna Loy said something silly. Ruth couldn't stop smiling at his enjoyment.

It was so rare to see Harry have fun. They were so happy, she knew, living together in this house and being in love and far away from the threats that plagued them at every corner in their former life. But Ruth still rarely saw him delight in something like this. They would tease each other, he would proudly show off things in the garden, he would smile affectionately at her when he watched her wake up from slumber most days. But this was a laughter that shook his whole body so much that Ruth had to move her head to avoid motion sickness. He was enthralled and so purely content. And she'd never seen anything so wonderful in all her life.

Ruth watched Harry watch the film, filled more and more with her overwhelming love for him. She knew that she and Harry were no Nick and Nora Charles, but she resolved that they should have more fun. Watch more screwball comedies, perhaps. Go places in their travels that would excite them with giddy fascination. Have more spontaneous adventures.

The film ended with Nick tossing Asta the dog up on the top bunk of their sleeper train cabin and joining Nora on the bottom. Ah, the quaint suggestiveness of the 1930s. Harry watched the screen go black with a satisfied smile. "That was rather fun," he stated.

Ruth nodded. "Yes. And I'm glad you enjoyed it so much."

"I'd forgotten how funny it was."

"I like it when you laugh."

"Do you?"

"Yes, Harry, I like it very much when I can see you so happy."

He smiled at her and reached up to push her hair behind her ear. "I might not be laughing hysterically all the time, but I promise you, I'm very happy."

An idea crossed into Ruth's mind. A rather spontaneous, adventurous idea that she immediately decided to carry out. "Do I make you happy, Harry?" she asked with feigned shyness.

"Oh Ruth, you make me happier than I've ever been in my life," he assured her.

Ruth couldn't resist a wicked little smile curling over her lips as she leaned forward. "Let me make you happy, Harry," she whispered. Her lips pressed against his just as her hand began stroking his cock through his trousers.

He whimpered and pulled away in surprise. "Ruth!"

She was entirely undeterred. And with the space created between them, she unzipped his trousers and reached into his trunks to stroke him in earnest. To her eternal flattery, Harry started getting hard very quickly. Ruth squeezed him, caressed his shaft, ran her thumb over his head, feeling him tremble at her touch. She looked back at his face to see him staring at her hand in awe. With a proud grin, she put her free hand on the back of his neck, carding his wispy curls in her fingers, and pulled him back into a searing kiss.

Harry let her continue on, but he tangled one hand in her hair and began massaging her breast with the other. His tongue surged into her mouth and she lost her concentration for a moment, assaulted by the glorious sensations of him.

Ruth had to pull away to catch her breath. His erection was hard in her hand now, so she settled herself on the sofa to lean down and take him in her mouth.

"Jesus, Ruth!" he swore, groaning and allowing his head to fall back against the back of the sofa. She chuckled slightly, giving him a bit of vibration along with her wet, swirling tongue. Her hands and her lips worked in tandem, moving up and down on him, sucking him as hard as she could. Harry's moans and shuddering thrusts gave her a good indication that he was enjoying himself. He was starting to lose control and tried to pull her off him, but she swatted his hand away. She wanted him to enjoy himself, she wanted to shower him with love and affection, and she wanted him to just relax and be happy. He gave a low growling groan as he came in her mouth, pulsing with pleasure.

Ruth gently sucked and licked and swallowed every last drop of him before finally sitting up. Harry seemed to be practically comatose, so she allowed him to rest as she went to the kitchen to rinse her mouth and open a bottle of wine for them to share. It was still early in the evening, so she figured they could watch another movie if they wanted to.

When she returned, Harry was just starting to blink back to reality. "What on earth was that?" he asked in disbelief.

"I think you know very well what it was. It's not like it's the first time I've done that for you, Harry," she pointed out.

"Yes, but that's certainly the first time you've done it like that. And now I'm…" He looked down to his soft cock with disappointment, knowing he'd more than likely remain that way until tomorrow.

Ruth put her wine glass down and gave him a soft kiss. "I know. I wanted to do that for you. If you enjoyed, that's all that matters, my love."

"But I like enjoying myself with you," he pouted.

"And you did. I was right there. And you don't need to reciprocate, Harry. I'm perfectly happy," she insisted.

He frowned slightly. "Well, even if I don't need to reciprocate, may I do so anyway?"

Ruth laughed and took another sip of her wine. "That's a very polite request. And I think I might be inclined to let you reciprocate, yes. But only if you take your clothes off," she dared.

Harry seemed a bit confused. "Why? I certainly don't need to be naked for this."

"But I want you to be," she replied in a small voice, feeling her confidence flag.

Ruth supposed it was bound to happen, that despite their very rewarding sex life, they were still themselves, and still struggled with their relative insecurities. Harry's power and skill and bravado were used to make up for his belief that he was old and fat and ugly. Ruth was constantly trying to overcome her own fear of inadequacy, the awkwardness and cowardice that had held her back all her life. Yes, she and Harry loved each other. Yes, the sex was wonderful. But Ruth still hadn't been brave enough to truly convince Harry of how attractive she found him, nor had he been able to truly coax her out of her shell. This moment, the spontaneous way Ruth had taken him, had been the closest to bravery Ruth had ever attempted. Harry was always the one to initiate intimacy, but Ruth was always very eager. Not since their first time together, when she'd woke him up by climbing on top of him naked, had she ever done anything close to this.

And now it seemed that Harry hadn't appreciated it as she wanted him to, he wanted to please her as she'd pleased him. It wasn't that Ruth didn't want him to, but it pained her that he still didn't really understand how much she desired him not just for what he could do but for all that he was.

Harry immediately saw the uncertainty in her eyes, the timidity that he'd tried so hard to cure her of. And it had been his own words and actions that had caused her to retreat from him now. She'd given him such a beautiful gift. And rather than being grateful for the selfless pleasure she bestowed on him, he had been grumpy that he wouldn't get to have more. Still, even if he couldn't get another erection tonight, he had plenty of other ways of bringing her to ecstasy. And this woman, this gorgeous goddess, somehow wanted him. She wanted him naked in her arms as he brought her pleasure. And who was he to deny her anything?

He took a few sips of the wine she'd poured for him before he slowly went to work unbuttoning his shirt. Ruth sat up and watched him hungrily. That dark expression in her eyes made him feel like he was thirty-five again, as though he could take her in every manner of ways for hours and hours. In many ways, he had been holding back thus far. He didn't want to come on too strong or do anything to frighten her or make her uncomfortable in the least. But oh, he wanted her. No matter how or when, he wanted nothing more than to feel her and kiss her and make her scream out his name as she trembled at his touch. And that was precisely what he intended to do.

As soon as he'd pushed his trousers off—leaving his trunks in place—he set to work bringing Ruth to a similar state of undress. Her eyes were shining with excitement as he pulled her jumper over her head and slid her sweats off her hips. She wasn't wearing anything particularly enticing for her underthings, but she didn't need to be. The plain flesh-colored bra was tossed aside quickly and her navy blue knickers joined the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

Ruth settled herself back against the arm of the sofa and reached out for Harry. He covered her body with his, enjoying the heat of her soft skin and the heady sensation of being cradled between her thighs. He kissed her languidly, letting his tongue caress hers, tasting the wine on her lips. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he turned his attentions lower and lower, nipping at her neck and breasts. He traced his tongue over her scar, as he always did, paying homage to the surgical stitches that saved her and brought them both to this beautiful life together. Her sighs and whimpers of pleasure increased in volume as he traveled down her body, finally settling with her right thigh over his shoulder.

She was already so wet for him, it was incredible to believe. He groaned at the idea that she'd been so aroused by what she'd done for him, by the few things he'd done for her so far. His hot breath so close to her sensitive skin caused her to tremble. Harry set to work on her, beginning first with a tender kiss to her entrance. From there, his tongue darted out to trace her folds. He alternated between sucking on her and teasing with his tongue, using both the tip and the flat surface to stimulate her in as many ways as he could manage. She was moaning and writhing, panting his name. Already, she was so close. Her hips bucked against his face, putting him exactly where she wanted him. She cried out, "Harry!" with the most visceral scream he'd ever heard her make. But, not content to only let her come once, Harry shifted slightly and plunged two fingers inside her, thrusting and curling as her walls clenched around him, making it last as long as possible.

Ruth could barely breathe. She couldn't even make sound anymore, only high-pitched pants. Her extremities had all gone numb. Her body shuddered and jerked in a manner over which she had no control. Her mind felt all at once filled and emptied. All that existed was Harry, his touch and the waves of passion he created in her.

Finally, he slowed and stilled. He took his hand and mouth away. She couldn't manage to open her eyes yet, so she wasn't quite sure what he was doing. But soon enough he returned to her, gently kissing his way back up her body. "That was incredible, Harry," she breathed.

He chuckled, softly kissing her cheeks and the corners of her mouth. "You know what else is rather incredible?" Harry pressed his hips against hers so she could feel his arousal. Something about the sounds she'd made had woken his tired, old body. Something miraculous about Ruth, so uninhibited and wild and wanton and ecstatic had allowed him to recover quicker than he'd managed in ten years.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, realizing that he'd removed his trunks and could feel his hardness against her thigh. "Well, I don't know how you can top that performance…" she taunted, eyes glinting as she licked her lips.

"Just you wait, darling," he growled, kissing her deeply. He pulled back once more just to make sure she was ready.

"I love you, Harry," she whispered, letting her fingers trail lightly down his cheeks. "And I want you to fuck me."

If he wasn't hard before, hearing her speak those words would have gotten him there. Harry sat back and lifted Ruth's legs up over his shoulders and entered her hard. She gasped, arching against the sofa in pleasure. As soon as he felt her hips adjust to him, Harry began to pound into her unrelentingly, taking her harder and rougher than ever before. He felt wild, strong, virile. And if the expression on Ruth's face was any indication, she was more than enjoying herself as well.

Harry had taken her by surprise. The best surprise she'd ever experienced. She forced herself to open her eyes so she could see where their bodies joined, could watch the way the rippling muscles under his scarred skin exerted as he took her like this. Ruth thought she knew how he felt inside her, but he was filling her now like never before. This position was exquisite, and if she had any sort of conscious thought, she might be worried about his knee or even her own healed injuries. But nothing worried her now. Harry was a god, blessing her with his passionate love. She felt the familiar tingling deep in her belly, the coiling tension brought on by the delicious friction he created. Ruth hadn't really thought she'd be able to climax again after the overpowering one she'd just come down from, but she should have known better than to doubt Harry's skill. She was so close when he leaned forward a little more, adjusting their angle just slightly, and she shattered.

Ruth was almost passed out when she felt Harry shudder and collapse on top of her. Her knees fell open on either side of him. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, keep him buried deep inside her as long as she could, but she just didn't have the strength. She just held him in her arms, feeling the slide of sweaty skin on sweaty skin.

"Alright?" he mumbled against her neck.

She gave a breathless laugh. "Never better. Are you alright?"

"I don't think I'll ever move again."

Ruth wrapped her arms around him tighter. "You don't need to move for quite a while."

They fell silent, each trying to catch their breath still.

It was Ruth who next spoke. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" He shifted, trying to take some of his weight off her.

"You've been holding out on me." She didn't wait for him to confirm. "Don't you ever hold back again."

Harry started to laugh, that full wheezing belly laugh that Ruth had delighted in earlier that afternoon. He slipped out of her and sat up, pulling her with him, holding her tight. "No, darling, I'll never hold back again. I just want to make you happy."

"Well, everything we just did made me very happy. I probably won't be able to walk tomorrow, but I promise I'll be very happy about it.

He laughed again and kissed her forehead. Ruth just smiled, blissfully, ridiculously happy.


	12. Chapter 12

Ruth answered the green front door and nearly burst right into tears of joy. "Oh I'm so glad you're here!" she exclaimed, hugging her guest tightly.

Malcolm Wynn-Jones wasn't sure he had ever smiled so wide in his life. "It's so good to see you, Ruth."

"Glad we could finally drag you out to our country abode," Harry said, coming down the stairs to greet his old friend.

In opposition to their usual staid English manner, the two men embraced one another warmly with big grins on their faces. Harry released Malcolm and regarded him. His hairline had receded quite a bit. He looked older. But happier. Harry was rather certain he probably looked that way to Malcolm's eyes, too.

An orange streak bolted through the foyer and wound his way around Malcolm's ankles. "And who might this be?" he asked with fond amusement.

Ruth bent down to pick up her cat. "This is Noodles. He's quite friendly. Bit too much sometimes. He likes to nap on Harry's chest when he's lying on the sofa."

"Cat hair in my bloody mouth," Harry grumbled.

Malcolm smiled at the pair and their cat. He scratched Noodles behind the ears and asked about the name. Ruth explained the origins and gave her cat a little kiss on the head before putting him back down on the ground. Noodles wandered off to find a sunny patch in the living room.

"He's a good cat most of the time. Tore up the garden a bit, but with winter coming, I'm not too bothered. I felt a damn fool shouting 'Noodles' when I first found the damage," Harry said.

Ruth let a small giggle escape. "I'm sorry but the name was just perfect, I couldn't resist!"

Harry sighed. "Darling, I love you, but you do tend to give your pets the stupidest names."

Malcolm watched in awe as Ruth swatted Harry's arm and Harry kissed her cheek. Malcolm laughed, "My god, retirement's agreed with you two!"

True to form, Ruth blushed bright pink. "We aren't very used to guests."

"But just look at you! Ruth, I've never seen you so happy in all the time I've known you. You're absolutely radiant," he complimented.

Ruth just smiled. "Let's give you the tour, shall we?" she offered, quickly changing the subject.

"Oh yes, the house is lovely from the front. I'd love to see what you've done with it."

Leading the tour, Ruth took Malcolm upstairs first and explained, "We mostly got all new furnishings. I didn't have much in my horrid flat, and Harry's things mostly stayed in London."

Harry added, "The furniture was all Ruth's choice, so anything that looks good, we can thank her."

"And Harry makes sure I don't turn our house into a chaotic mess, so the fact that you can see any surface at all, we can thank him," Ruth added back.

They went through to the study first, with Ruth and Harry both sharing the enormous wooden desk—Harry had liked the clean elegance of the glass desk he'd had on the Grid, but he didn't quite want to be reminded of it very much. Ruth had found a beautiful vintage design that combined his affection for clean lines and her insistence that everything in their home feel warm and inviting.

"I wanted it to be Harry's office—and it is for the most part, since I've got an office at the university—but sometimes I'll use it to grade papers and things," Ruth explained.

"Yes, you said you were teaching. How's it going?" Malcolm asked. "I imagine you're wonderful at it."

"Oh I don't know. I think I do alright. I certainly do enjoy it. French literature and British history are quite a challenge, but the students are lovely and well-engaged, and there's something rather lovely for me about being back in a classroom."

Harry beamed proudly. "You should see her, Malcolm. She's absolutely brilliant. You remember how she'd get in a briefing, her face lighting up and her voice practically trembling with excitement? Ruth lectures just like that for a full ninety minutes. The students can't help but love her."

Ruth turned to him with slight surprise. "How on earth do you know that?"

"I snuck into one of your history lectures back in September. I've never heard anyone discuss the Gunpowder Plot with such passion."

Again, Ruth began to blush. "Next time you want to see me teach, let me know and I'll be sure to give you the reading assignment so you're prepared," she teased.

The tour moved along, showing off the bedroom—where they only stayed long enough to show off the large window overlooking the garden—and to the bathroom with its incredibly beautiful and enormous bathtub and chandelier overhead.

"That certainly is pretty," Malcolm complimented.

Ruth sighed in slight exasperation. "It is beautiful, but Harry spent a fortune on it and I feel wholly inadequate every time I see it. There is no use for a crystal chandelier in the bathroom!"

"You wouldn't let me put one anywhere else, and Malcolm agrees, it's very pretty," Harry fired back.

She turned to Malcolm. "You see? We really are a proper couple now, bickering about lighting fixtures."

He grinned. "I think it's wonderful."

Ruth was instantly transported back all those years before, when Malcolm saying those very words had caused her to run for the hills and leave Harry far behind. Oh the stupid time she'd wasted because their friend had wished them well, all thanks to Ruth's own horrid cowardice and insecurity. It was all far behind them now, but it rankled a bit to be reminded sometimes.

Harry saw that look in Ruth's eyes and hurried the tour along. They went back downstairs to show Malcolm the living room, dining room, and kitchen. They made it out to the garden just before the sun was due to set so Malcolm could see how beautiful it was.

"I assume we have Ruth to thank for this beauty as well?"

"No, if you can believe it, our Harry has proven himself quite the landscape artist! He spent all spring clearing out the mess and researching what to plant and making it all beautiful," Ruth said proudly.

"That was before I found anything better to do with my time," Harry explained, feeling slightly embarrassed by the praise.

"Well now you've got a new career as a travel writer. Bravo, Harry!" Malcolm commended.

Ruth placed a loving hand on his arm. "He's got quite a way with words, hasn't he?"

"That book of yours on Paris is quite the loveliest I've read."

"Read a lot of them, have you?" Harry asked sardonically.

Malcolm chuckled, "Not really, but I imagine most aren't as good as yours. It's not just a list of recommendations and descriptions, your book. It's a beautiful diary of your trip, all the things you did and saw. Genuine emotion in all of it."

"It was a beautiful trip that I genuinely enjoyed," Harry replied softly.

"I did beg him not to put me in the book, but he couldn't help himself," Ruth said, feigning complaint. But her eyes were bright with affection.

Smiling, Malcolm replied, "I assumed you were the 'perfect companion' described in the book, yes. And that dedication was rather sweet."

Harry felt himself blush a bit at that one. He'd published his first travel book, short and odd as it was, and placed in a dedication page that he'd already planned on using in every single book he wrote: _To my perfect companion, for the journey we took to get here and for all the journeys we'll take together._

Ruth leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She couldn't help it. After all the years of fighting against the problems of the world and the problems of her own making, they really had taken a journey to get to where they were, and Ruth had finally found strength and courage to claim Harry as her own. And she had no qualms anymore about proudly being seen at his side. Strange as it was to her former self, Ruth no longer feared the opinion of others. _They_ knew their relationship and their love. And there was no need to hide from the people they cared about. Least of all Malcolm, who had been nothing but genuinely encouraging from the start.

"Right, you two catch up, I'm going to start on dinner," Ruth announced, leaving the men in the garden and going back into the kitchen.

Harry and Malcolm made their way back inside so they could have a drink. As they mumbled "Cheers" and clinked their glasses, Malcolm regarded Harry very carefully.

"What's on your mind, Malcolm?" Harry prompted.

"I've known you a long time, Harry. Longer than anyone, I think."

He nodded in agreement.

Malcolm continued, "I know I said earlier that Ruth's changed, and she has, but you have, too."

"Not being on the Grid has done us both a lot of good," Harry noted.

"It's not just that though."

"Oh?"

"Harry, I knew you when you were married to Jane. When your children were little and you were bursting with pride over Catherine losing her first tooth and Graham learning to read. Every promotion, even your knighthood, I was right there for all of it. I was proud to be, to witness your happiest moments. But I didn't realize until I saw you today…" He trailed off and took a long sip of scotch.

"What did you realize?"

"I realized that I've never actually seen you happy before. Not like this. You're…lighter, somehow. There's always been a cloud of danger around you, Harry, and I don't see it anymore."

Harry knew precisely what he meant. "That's because it isn't there anymore. Not really. I still carry the losses and the grief and the regrets, but that's all behind us now. Ruth's given me a new life. Best life I've ever had."

From where she was eavesdropping in the kitchen, Ruth felt tears prick her eyes. To hear Harry speak so openly to another person about the joy in their lives and the importance of the love they shared in this house together was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She was overwhelmed with her utter adoration of his strong, slightly broken, aging man who held her heart.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Ruth called out, "Harry, could you give me a hand for a minute, please?"

"Yes, darling, what do you need?" he asked upon walking into the kitchen.

Ruth pressed her hands to his chest and backed him against the refrigerator, kissing him deeply. She released him as quickly as she'd grabbed him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest beneath his chin.

"What was that for?" Harry asked in a bewildered yet entertained tone.

"I love you so very much. I don't even have the words to express it. But you know, don't you? How much I love you?"

He stroked her hair and held her tight. "Yes, Ruth. I know."

She stayed in his embrace for a moment and eventually pulled herself away. "We shouldn't leave Malcolm all alone. You go back out there. I just…I just had to tell you that."

Harry cupped her cheek and gave her a gentle kiss. "I'm glad you did. And you let me know if you need anything else."

Ruth nodded. Harry gave her one final smile and returned to their beloved guest.


	13. Chapter 13

Blood. All he could feel was blood all over his hands. His own tears flooded his vision. Ruth's beautiful face was pale and quiet. Harry heard sobbing. Some of it was his own. But some of it wasn't. He looked up and saw a little boy crying. Little Wes Carter crying and screaming. "Why did you let her go, Uncle Harry? They're all gone now! You took them all away!"

Harry felt his heart breaking in his chest, his panic rising. He could see Ros there, too. Her hand on Wes's shoulder, looking at Harry with her cold, blame-filled eyes. Everyone he had failed, seeing all his faults.

Ruth wasn't breathing. There was no pulse. Harry pulled her into his arms, crying even more. When he looked up at little Wes again, the young boy was no longer there. His face was replaced with another, looking the same age, though he was much older in reality. "You did this, Dad," Graham accused. "You've killed us all."

Harry awoke with a start. He may have shouted out, he wasn't sure. His whole body was bathed in sweat, his heart racing and his stomach roiling. As he tried to catch his breath, he looked over and saw Ruth sleeping peacefully beside him. The panic from that nightmare was still humming throughout his body but at least now he knew for sure it was only a nightmare. Ruth was alive. Everything would be alright.

Harry looked at the clock by the bed and saw it was half past four. Earlier than he'd woken up in a long time, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore. He took a few slow, quiet, deep breaths. His heartrate slowed to a reasonable level, and Harry settled back into bed, pulling Ruth into his arms. He held her tight, pressing his body up against her back and burying his face in her hair. She was warm and she smelled alive and beautiful and he could feel her pulse thrumming against his hands and he finally felt some semblance of calm.

Ruth began to awaken at his insistent embrace. She didn't like being woken in the early hours of the morning, but she could be persuaded to indulge his amorous mood more often than not. This was one of those mornings, it seemed. She hummed a happy little sound and rolled over in his arms. Without even opening her eyes, she began pressing her lips to his jaw and neck. Her leg hitched over his hip and she wiggled her hips against his.

But unlike every single time she'd done anything like this in the past, Harry's body had no reaction whatsoever. Ruth noticed right away. Usually when they woke up to have sex, he was half-hard before even touching her. Her eyes snapped open, looking at him with concern.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say.

She frowned. "Harry, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

Presumably his years of experience hiding his expressions had been lost in the months since his retirement. His distress must have shown on his face. "Bad dream," he replied.

Ruth watched him for a moment, searching his face. Then, she extricated herself from his grasp and got out of bed. She didn't say a word as she crossed over to his side of the bed and reached for his hand. Harry followed her, letting her hold onto him tightly and lead him out of their bedroom in the pale dawn light and into their bathroom. She let him go so she could turn on the bathtub faucet. It took her a moment to get the water to the right temperature and toss some of her scented bubbles in.

Harry let her run the bath, unsure what exactly she was doing. But her plan became clear as she pulled his vest over his head and kissed his bare chest lovingly. She stepped back to remove the old tshirt she wore. She then pulled his trunks down and removed her own pajama bottoms. The tub had filled sufficiently by the time she had undressed them both.

"In," she instructed.

Harry gingerly stepped into the luxurious bathwater and lowered himself down. He held Ruth's hand to help her keep her balance as she got in after him and settled down, seated between his legs with her back resting against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her middle and she hugged him close.

She sighed as they leaned back in each other's comforting embrace. "Relax, my love," she murmured.

He kissed her bare shoulder. "Thank you."

They were quiet for a while. The light from the chandelier above them illuminated the bathroom in bright sparkles. The only sound was the faint crackling of bubbly suds bursting in the cold morning air. Eventually, Ruth spoke again. "Was it me?"

Harry swallowed hard. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to foist his darkness upon her, not now that they'd found their way into the light together. But he knew better. He knew he couldn't allow it to fester inside him. They were together now, in every sense. And just as he begged her to unburden her nightmares on him and allow him to help her, he needed to trust her in the same way. "Yes," he answered eventually. "You were bleeding. You died in my arms."

Ruth hugged him tighter around her. "Was it only me?"

He'd told her before that he often had nightmares about others he'd lost. It was a fair question for her to ask. "No, not just you. Wes was there. Crying. And Ros."

"Ros was crying?"

He gave a light scoff, "No, our Ros wouldn't cry for me."

"Nor me," Ruth added.

"Quite. But no, Ros was silent. She…she blamed me. For the losses. They all did." The way his voice cracked did not escape Ruth's notice, for she inhaled sharply at the indications of Harry falling prey to his emotions.

"All? Not both?"

Another thing she noticed. He should know better than to let anything slip. "Wes…changed. His face. His voice. He was…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. To admit it.

"Who?" she asked gently.

"Graham," he choked out.

"Oh Harry," she lamented, leaning back to press her face against his cheek.

He could see her eyes closed tight, perhaps to prevent tears. She felt so very deeply, his Ruth. It was one of the things he loved best about her. But it was also the thing that worried him most about her. That powerful compassion and empathy she possessed carried the ability to love so deeply and to be hurt far too much. He had not wanted to burden her, but he had come to understand the way they loved each other, that their burdens were shared now. Ruth held his heart, all the good and bad within it.

They didn't speak again. The bathwater eventually cooled, and they dried off and went back to bed. Harry slept without dreams.

Much later, they had a very late breakfast. Harry read the newspaper while he drank his coffee, and Ruth sang lightly to herself as she flipped pancakes and put plates in front of each of them. Harry thanked her and tucked right in.

She sat down and watched Harry eat for a moment. "I've been giving a bit of thought to Christmas. It's our first holiday in the new house," she began.

Harry swallowed his bite of pancake. "So it is. What were you thinking?"

"I'd sort of imagined hosting a small luncheon, perhaps. I thought about it when we were in Paris, actually. Having our house full of friends and family for holidays. I know most people probably have other plans or traditions, but I think Malcolm might come. And if you'd like to invite Catherine? Maybe Wes?"

He gave a soft smile, hoping to relieve the anxious expression on her face as she made her suggestions. "That sounds wonderful, darling. I'd love to have a family Christmas. We'll have to have your family in from Exeter."

Ruth dropped her fork on her plate in surprise. "No," she said simply.

"No?" The sudden change in her mood was a slight shock. "Why not?"

"David died during my exile. I looked it up when I got back. My mother was in a home at that point. And I didn't want to bring her more misery. I certainly wasn't in any place to bring anyone glad tidings," she explained.

"No," he agreed.

"And then…she died. Last year."

"Oh Ruth, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were suspended pending the Albany hearing."

Harry felt ice in his heart. That had been the most miserable time for him. When Ruth had thrown his love and sacrifice for her back in his face as a result of her guilt, when he was denied the ability to see her or speak with her, though this time it was his exile that kept them apart and not hers.

Ruth continued, "I asked Erin to give me a few days. I went to Exeter and organized a small memorial and handled her estate. That's how I was able to afford this house, actually. It wasn't much of an inheritance, but enough to supplement my savings rather nicely."

Across the kitchen table, Harry reached out and grabbed her hand. "I'm so sorry, darling."

"It's all in the past now. I never could find a way to tell her I wasn't dead. I was sort of glad to not have to figure it out. She already had to say goodbye to me once. It would be cruel for her to do it again," she said with a slight shrug. She gave his hand a squeeze and then released it, going back to her pancakes.

Her words ruminated in his mind. His horrific nightmare. Her nervous request to invite their loved ones for the holiday. The revelation about her mother and step-father. It spurred Harry into decision. "We'll have our family Christmas, Ruth. We've got our own family. Together. I'll invite Catherine, see if she's in the country and if she'd be able to escape Jane for a little while. I'm sure Malcolm would be able to come. And I haven't spoken to Wes in a few months, but perhaps we can go into London one of these weekends and see him, ask him then."

Ruth's eyes sparkled joyfully as she nodded in agreement. Harry smiled back at her. He specifically didn't mention Graham, as there wasn't much to mention. Even if he had any means to contact his son, he was rather certain the lad would not reply to any invitation. But they'd have their family of their own making, and they would fill their house with love and joy. Perhaps even enough to illuminate the dark corners of both their hearts.


	14. Chapter 14

"Oh Jesus, I thought you were joking!" Harry laughed.

Ruth stood in the middle of the kitchen with an enormous platter in her arms. "I told you I wanted a traditional Christmas with a traditional Christmas goose!"

He couldn't seem to stop laughing. "Since when are we living in a Dickensian novel?"

"Harry!"

Seeing now that he was starting to hurt her feelings, he took the tray of raw goose out of her hands and put it down on the counter before leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. "I'm sorry, darling, I'm only teasing. Christmas goose sounds wonderful. Haven't had it since I was a boy, actually. Is there any help you need?

"Just keep the party entertained while I'm cooking. And keep my drink glass filled," she replied with a slightly exasperated expression. She went back to her goose on the counter and began making the spice mix.

Harry smiled affectionately. "Ruth?" His voice was soft, getting her attention with his gentle tone.

"Hmm?"

He crossed over to her and pressed a lingering, loving kiss to her lips. "Happy Christmas."

"Yes, you've said that," she teased, recalling the way he'd woken her that morning, whispering Christmas tidings in her ear as his hands traced arousing patterns on her skin and his hardness pressed against her bum. When they'd fallen back onto the bed, sweaty and sated, he wished her a merry Christmas once more.

"I may have said it before and I will continue to say it all day. I can't recall the last time I had a nice Christmas. Certainly even longer since I haven't been to work on Christmas Day. I think it's high time I enjoy the holiday," he reasoned.

Ruth smiled at him with sparkling eyes, kissing him once more. "High time we both enjoyed the holiday. Happy Christmas, my love. Now go away so I can concentrate."

He did as she asked, his wheezy laugh fading as he left the kitchen and went to get the living room ready for their party.

Their first arrival of the afternoon was Malcolm, bringing a bottle of scotch for Harry and a lovely bouquet for Ruth. "I know Harry's got that lovely garden, but I didn't imagine you'd have much blooming this time of year," he explained.

Ruth kissed his cheek. "They're beautiful, Malcolm. Thank you. Merry Christmas." She shooed the men into the living room so she could get back to her goose. Harry poured them all some of the scotch from Malcolm, bringing Ruth's glass into the kitchen for her, before going to answer the doorbell.

Fiona Carter's mother, looking like the spitting image of her dearly departed daughter, came by to drop off Wes. The boy was thirteen now, but still the same bright child Harry and Ruth had loved when he was little.

"Uncle Harry, Gran said I can stay all afternoon!" Wes announced. "Is Auntie Ruth really making a goose?"

"Why don't you go see for yourself?" Harry suggested, pointing the way to the kitchen.

Wes scampered off to see Ruth. She was just putting the bird in the oven when she saw him come in. "Oh, Wes!" she cried, pulling him into her arms. "Goodness, look how tall you are!"

"You just saw me two weeks ago, Auntie Ruth," he grumbled.

"I know, but I've got six years' worth of hugs to make up for," she replied, squeezing him tight before releasing him. "I'm so glad you could make it. Have you had a nice Christmas so far?"

Wes went on to talk about the presents he'd gotten, including the one Ruth and Harry had sent him to open on Christmas morning. He thanked her profusely, excited to get to read the translated Arabic stories that Ruth had picked out specifically for him, in homage to his parents. Harry had written a lovely inscription, telling a watered-down version of how Adam and Fiona had met and fallen in love. Ruth was pleased to know that Wes appreciated it.

"Now then, I've got quite a lot to do in here, so why don't you go see Uncle Harry and Uncle Malcolm. I think Harry's got a game for everyone to play before lunch," she told him.

Harry was just setting up the board when the doorbell rang once more. He was mildly shocked that their final guest had actually arrived.

"Hi, Dad," Catherine greeted with a stiff nod.

As much as he wanted to hug his daughter, Harry merely nodded in return and ushered her inside. "Merry Christmas, Catherine. I'm so glad you could make it."

Catherine removed her coat and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. "Mistletoe," she noted, pointing above his head to the sprig Harry had tied up there the week before. He'd meant it as an excuse to snog Ruth silly every time she came in the house, but this worked just as well. He blushed bright pink at Catherine's swift show of affection.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right. Yes. We're all in here. Ruth's cooking up a storm and Malcolm's brought scotch, and we were about to sit down and play a game while lunch is cooking. Just you then? Or are we expecting anyone else?"

"Fabian is back with Mum," Catherine explained. "I wasn't quite sure what to expect, so I didn't want to drag him along in case things go…like they go."

"You're welcome to stay as long as your comfortable. We won't hold you hostage," Harry replied, trying desperately to be accommodating and not to blurt out that he was just so pleased Catherine had shown up at all.

"Your house is really nice," she commented as they walked through the front hall.

"Thank you. It's all Ruth's doing, actually. She picked everything out. I just keep it clean. But I'm so glad you can finally meet each other." Harry poked his head into the open kitchen door. "Ruth, Catherine's here."

"Oh!" Ruth tossed her oven mitts down and hurried out, trying to smooth back her hair into some sort of presentable appearance. "Catherine! It's so wonderful to meet you!" she greeted exuberantly.

If Catherine was taken aback by her father's much younger partner, she didn't show it. She merely smiled in her friendly manner. "Ruth, thank you so much for having me over for your Christmas lunch," the younger woman said politely.

"It's our pleasure. Harry was so nervous you wouldn't want to come, but I'm so glad you did. We really wanted a family Christmas. I haven't got any family left, you see, and Harry hasn't had the opportunity before now, so we wanted to host a luncheon. Oh, I'm just so happy you're here!"

Harry watched Ruth positively gushing over his daughter, welcoming her into their home. He hoped they'd get along, these two women he loved more than anything in this world. But this was their first opportunity. They'd see how it went.

Ruth sensed the awkwardness brought on by her effusive energy, which she sought to rectify. "Catherine, why don't you go through to the living room. I think Harry was just setting up Monopoly, weren't you?"

He nodded, but Catherine stared at him with slight surprise.

"Monopoly?"

"Yes, is that alright?"

She gave a strangled sort of laugh. "I can't believe you still do that. Wow."

Ruth was quite confused. "Still do what?"

Catherine explained, "The one Christmas I remember that we were all together for, Dad played Monopoly with us. And I only remember it because for years afterward, Graham kept asking if Dad would be home for Christmas so we could all play Monopoly again. Mum got quite cross about it, actually."

Harry was gobsmacked that she remembered. And that it had such an impact on his son. He had no idea. Another thing he could add to the long list of things he didn't know about his children.

"Perhaps the tradition can be properly revived," Ruth suggested. "I'll leave you to it, then." And with that, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

As she checked on the goose and got started on preparing the veg and potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, she kept the door open so she could overhear the festivities going on in the living room. The game was going rather well. Lots of laughter and happy shouting. Harry, it seemed, was beating everyone by leaps and bounds. Ruth could hear his barking laughter as he took all of Malcolm's money and Wes loudly declaring that Harry was just too good for it to be fair.

A minute later, Harry appeared in the kitchen, grinning like a madman. "I bought up every property but two," he proclaimed. "I think I almost made Malcolm cry."

Ruth glared at him for that remark. "Oh you're just infuriatingly pleased, aren't you?"

"I am, yes." Harry came over to where she was whisking the eggs and cream and flour for her pudding batter. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled against her neck.

Pausing her whisking, Ruth turned in his arms, grabbed his chin in her hand, and kissed him hard before pushing him off her. "There. Kissed that smug smile right off you. Now get back, I'm trying to keep to a time table and not burn the house down."

Harry laughed and leaned back against the counter beside her. He was about to make a teasing remark when he saw Catherine standing in the doorway, staring at them in shock.

"Sorry. Don't mean to interrupt. Just wanted to ask if you've got a cat. Wes found a ginger cat and I wanted to make sure it's yours."

"Yes, he's ours. That's Noodles," Ruth replied, trying to focus on her cooking to hide her violent blush of embarrassment for whatever Catherine had seen.

"Long story," Harry added, noting the confusion on his daughter's face about the cat's name. "I'll take care of it."

As Harry hurried past her, Catherine remained in the kitchen. "Do you need any help, Ruth?"

"No, I think I've got it under control. I'd love some company, though, if you'd like."

Catherine sat down at the kitchen table as Ruth poured batter into her preheated tin and put it in the oven as she removed the goose to let it rest a while before carving it. Once everything was done being moved about, Ruth could take a break and have a bit of her scotch.

"So, what do you want to know?" Ruth asked astutely.

The direct approach threw Catherine a bit off. But it was a pleasant surprise. "Dad said you've been together a while," she began.

Ruth nodded. "Something like that. We used to work together for a long time."

"Oh." There was a note of disdain in Catherine's tone.

"But that's all behind us now," Ruth assured her.

"And you're the reason he finally retired."

Ruth nodded. "I wanted us to get away while we still could. And not to be too grim about the whole thing, but I don't think either of us really understood it until that day that I asked him. I very nearly died in his arms, actually."

Catherine didn't have a response to that. Ruth didn't expect her to.

The two women were quiet for a moment. Ruth got to work on the veg while the pudds cooked. "I've never seen him like this before," Catherine noted, watching Harry playing with Wes from where she sat.

Ruth gave a knowing nod. "He hasn't had much opportunity for it before. To be happy."

"I suppose that's all thanks to you. Him being happy."

"We've done it together, honestly. We needed each other. More than we wanted to admit. It's still hard some days, not being a part of that life. It was all either of us had for far too long. But I know he's really trying. To make a good life for us. For us to be happy together."

Catherine gave Ruth a grateful smile and turned her attention back to her father, now sitting on the floor with the orange cat, laughing. "I wish Graham could see him like this," she thought aloud.

"I know Harry would really like to get into contact with him. He misses you both very much."

But Catherine shook her head. "Graham would kill me if I gave Dad his info. They've done a lot of damage to each other. Too much, I think."

"I don't know the whole story but I will say that I'm sorry you've been caught in the middle of so much of it."

Catherine regarded Ruth carefully. "I'm really glad he found you. I think you're really good for him."

"We're really good for each other," Ruth agreed. "And I'm glad you think so. I hope we can all spend more time together."

"I'd like that."

A crash and a loud groan sounded from the living room, followed very quickly by Malcolm calling Ruth's name. She turned off the stove where she was sautéing the green beans and ran out, muttering, "Christ, that man!

Harry could be heard groaning in pain and swearing, "Blasted bloody stupid dodgy knee!"

In the end, the traditional Christmas meal Ruth had worked so hard on was simultaneously a bit cold and a bit burnt. But it was delicious and everyone loved it and praised her for her efforts. Harry had an ice pack resting on his knee after he tweaked it trying to get up from the floor and chase after the damn cat.

Malcolm had agreed to drive Wes back to his grandparents after lunch, and Catherine had to get back to her partner and mother. Everyone had to say their goodbyes to Harry from where he was laid up on the sofa after the meal. Malcolm shook his hand and gave Ruth a kiss on the cheek. Wes gave them both big hugs.

Catherine was the last to go. "Dad, it was a really wonderful afternoon with you all. Best Christmas we've had, I think."

"I agree," Harry replied. He gratefully took his daughter in his arms and hugged her tight. "Take care of yourself. Call when you can."

She stood back up and nodded. "I will. I promise."

Ruth walked Catherine out to her car. "It was really wonderful of you to come. Perhaps next time you're around, you can bring Fabian with you. Now that you know we aren't as scary as you imagined."

Catherine laughed, "No, not scary. I actually think you're both lovely." She gave Ruth a hug. "Thanks for everything. Merry Christmas."

At last, Ruth locked the green front door and made her way back to Harry on the sofa. "Come here," he requested, opening her arms to him.

She sat down in his embrace, allowing him to lean back and pull them both into a supine position, snuggled up on the sofa. "Oh I don't ever want to move," she whined.

"So don't." He kissed her cheek.

"I've got to put the food away. You know Noodles is going to find his way onto the counter and destroy the leftover goose, and I wanted to make sandwiches with it," she told him.

"You can leave it for a little while." He kissed her again. "Happy Christmas, Ruth."

She hummed happily. "Happy Christmas, Harry."


	15. Chapter 15

"Home sweet home," Ruth said pleasantly, unlocking the front door and letting Harry go past her to disable the alarm. They really didn't need to bother with so much security anymore, but the habit stayed with them both.

Harry just grumbled, punching in his code before hanging up his coat, still in a bad mood from having to go to the doctor. "I suppose we'll have to think of this as home for a while."

"The surgeons are better in London. And this is why I wanted you to keep the house, in case we needed it. You're getting knee replacement surgery in three days and it'll be good to stay in town for your follow-up appointments while you recover." Ruth hung her coat beside Harry's and bent down to pick up Noodles for a cuddle. Their little cat had to journey to the city with them, since they wouldn't be back at their house in Suffolk for a few months. "Besides," she continued, "you love this house! It must be nice to be back, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "It's fine. I'll get used to it again. But this isn't _our_ house. I have more bad memories here than good," he admitted, going to settle on the sofa for a little while before dinner.

Ruth put the cat down and went to pour them each a drink. "But we've had some good memories here, too. I mean, we lived here together for a while before we moved. Though I suppose you're right, it was a bit miserable for two months while I was recovering. And now you'll be recovering, too, almost exactly a year later. Goodness, I suppose we have turned this place into a convalescence home."

Harry chuckled, taking the glass of scotch she offered him and holding open his arms so she could snuggle beside him. "But you did recover here, and it was that very bed upstairs here where I first got to make love to you. Best memory I've got in this house." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and smiled at the memory.

The beginnings of an idea wormed its way into Ruth's mind. "Harry?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Before we were together, did you…think about me here?"

He frowned in slight confusion. "Yes, of course."

"I mean…physically."

"Ruth, are you asking me if I had sexual fantasies about you?"

She blushed bright pink. "Yes."

"Well I don't mind telling you that yes, I certainly did. I have loved you and wanted you for a very long time," he reminded her.

"I know." She pressed a loving kiss to his jaw. "And I think now is a good opportunity to do something about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, in three days you're having your knee surgery, so you can be better than before and not be in pain anymore. But while you're recovering, I daresay we'll have to be celibate for a while."

"Probably," he agreed with disappointment.

"So for the next three days, we should make use of being here together. Live out some of your fantasies. You're very detail-oriented, Harry. I daresay you've imagined various scenarios between us in various parts of this house."

Harry's heart skipped a beat, and his mind churned with ideas. "Oh."

"Oh?"

He was starting to get hard already. He put his scotch down on the table and kissed her soundly. "You are brilliant and I love you."

She grinned proudly. "Oh good. So where shall we start? I bet we can get in a fantasy or two before dinner."

Harry's mind raced, trying to recall all the naughty things he'd ever imagined about Ruth when he'd lived here. He hadn't let himself fantasize too much, not wanting to objectify her like that even in his own mind and not enjoying the sad feeling he got whenever he allowed himself to hope too hard for something he never truly believed could come to be. Harry gazed around the living room, thinking. "Ah. The chair," he remembered aloud.

Ruth sat up, ready to go wherever he directed. She felt a bit nervous, actually, this notion of making his fantasies come to life. It had taken her all this time—a whole year, in fact—to not only be comfortable and open about their sex life, but to try to take some initiative herself. No matter how much Harry loved her and lavished her with worshipful attention, a part of her still sometimes felt like bookish, awkward Ruth who was overlooked by the men she fancied and used by the men who fancied her. Harry wasn't like that, of course. But old habits certainly died hard.

She watched Harry stand up and move to the armchair. "This was always my favorite, chair," he explained. "I spent a lot of lonely nights listening to my records and drinking my scotch, sometimes with Scarlett curled up at my feet, and wallowing in regret."

Ruth frowned. "Regret over what?"

"Far too many things. But sometimes I'd close my eyes and imagine you were here with me."

Her expression brightened. This was what she'd had in mind. "And what did you imagine I would do?"

Harry suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. He couldn't possibly say such things out loud. Not to Ruth. He couldn't ask her to do anything like this.

But Ruth noticed him falter. "Please tell me. I want to know. How did you imagine me, Harry?"

"Erm, well…you were naked," he began awkwardly.

She nodded. She'd expected as much, certainly. Ruth stood up and wasted no time removing all her clothes. Harry watched her with hungry eyes, which certainly did not escape her notice. It was a bit cold in the house, though she hoped Harry would warm her up quite quickly. As it was, her natural reticence was causing her to blush something fierce. "Alright, I'm naked," she stated.

He couldn't help but chuckle slightly. Yes, she certainly was naked. Wonderfully so. He smiled lovingly. "You are so beautiful, Ruth."

Ruth just smiled in return. "So was this all? You'd sit in that chair and picture me standing naked in front of you?"

"Well, not standing."

It took her a moment to think of what he might mean. "Oh!" Realization dawned on her. Without further ado, Ruth walked toward him and sank down on her knees, thankful for the soft rug beneath her. Her hands moved up his thighs, appreciating the shiver that went through him at her touch. Her fingers made quick work of his belt and trousers, reaching into his trunks to stroke his semi-erect cock. "Is this what you imagined, Harry?" she asked, her voice low and quiet. She looked up into his eyes and saw his dark, sparkling gaze. Yes, this was what he imagined. Ruth wasted no time taking him into her mouth.

Harry couldn't believe how lucky he was. His head rolled back against the chair and he buried his hand in Ruth's hair, guiding the way her head bobbed up and down while she gave him the most incredible blowjob. Jesus, she was good.

Ruth had never enjoyed doing this for any man before Harry. She had done it plenty of times, but only upon request, and only to avoid a man's awful pouting if she ever refused. But with Harry, it felt like giving a gift. The power she had over him was rather intoxicating. The way he groaned and shuddered and thrust into her mouth uncontrollably was highly arousing for her. And never once had Harry asked it from her. Even now, when she wanted to act out his fantasies, he never actually came out and said that he'd fantasized about her sucking his cock while he sat in his favorite armchair, but Ruth certainly knew him well enough that he didn't need to put everything into words; that had never been their way. In fact, only recently had putting their thoughts into words been something they'd gotten even remotely competent at doing.

Rather abruptly, Harry gave Ruth's hair a bit of a yank, pulling her off him. "Too much," he explained, his breathing rather ragged.

She couldn't help but smile. If he stopped her now, it meant he obviously had other ideas about how he wanted to come. "It wasn't your fantasy for me to finish you off?" she asked cheekily.

He grinned at her, loving when she was in this playful sort of mood. "We've got more fantasies to do," he replied.

Ruth waited for further instruction. After all, these were Harry's fantasies. She did wish he'd hurry up, though. It was chilly kneeling on the ground in the living room completely starkers. But Harry seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He held out his hand to help her up and led her through the house into the kitchen. He was still clothed, though his trousers were undone.

"Right. Up on the table," he prompted.

She frowned, not really liking the idea of sitting naked on the kitchen table. "Harry, we eat here," she pointed out.

A sly grin graced his lips. "That's what I intend to do. Up you get."

Her eyes widened. "Oh!" She blushed rather prettily as the understanding of his plan made her flush with arousal. Still somewhat tentative, however, Ruth slowly sat on the edge of the table.

Harry sat in a chair in front of her, pushing her back slightly so she was laying comfortably. He spread her legs apart, running his hands along the softness of her thighs, letting his touch fill them both with more and more anticipation. He wanted to take his time. How many times had he sat at this table, eating a sad meal all alone, shamelessly fantasizing about exactly this, Ruth bare and spread before him? She was utterly resplendent.

But Ruth was getting a bit impatient. "Harry," she whined, canting her hips slightly to encourage him to get a move on.

"I love you," he murmured, overcome with gratitude for everything she was and everything they had together.

And then his tongue plunged into her sex. Ruth gasped and shuddered at the sudden onslaught of sensation. He licked and sucked at her, his tongue and lips moving in so many ways, she was completely lost to him. "Oh Christ, Harry!" she gasped, grinding against his face.

He chuckled against her, pleased beyond belief that he could get her worked up like this. Ruth liked sex, that much was very clear from their first time together in this very house. But she nevertheless possessed some insecurity and reticence in their lovemaking as much as with every aspect of her life. When Harry made her come apart and writhe and moan and lose all of those inhibitions, he found his love for her increased thirtyfold. She was everything to him, absolutely everything—his life and his heart and his bright shining beacon. All he ever wanted was to bring her joy and pleasure, to love her as best he could and as close to what she deserved as he could manage.

Ruth felt the tension coil and build deep in her belly until she shattered with a cry, overcome by the erotic care of Harry's masterful mouth. She moaned his name over and over and over till she was hoarse as his tongue coaxed her through one of the most intense orgasms she'd ever experienced. At last, she lay limp and boneless as he slowed and stilled, moving to softly kiss her thighs as he moved away from her.

By the time she opened her eyes and sat up, Harry had managed to divest himself of his clothing. His erection was huge and throbbing, and he stroked himself lightly as he waited for her to be ready. "You are a god among men, Harry," she praised.

He grinned proudly as he watched her haul herself up off the table and stand, slightly wobbly, and wrap her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue. His cock was trapped between them, twitching slightly as she pressed against him and he held her tight with his big, weathered hands traveling up and down her spine.

Harry pulled away after a moment. "Turn around," he rasped.

Ruth faced away from him in front of the table. Harry bent her over, and she braced herself on her elbows. Harry entered her from behind very slowly, pausing when he was fully sheathed inside her. "You feel so good," she moaned.

He covered her body with his own, holding her close, pressing his lips to the back of her neck and breathing in her scent, memorizing every single feel and taste and smell of her. And when he began to move within her, he continued to hold her tight, to thrust as hard and deep as possible. The sounds she made were etched on his very soul. This was not the first or last time he would make love to her, not by a long shot, but it felt momentous nonetheless. He wanted her and needed her and loved her with everything in him, and he wanted to make sure she knew.

As she bent over the kitchen table, Ruth was surrounded in every sense by Harry. It used to terrify her, the way he could so easily overwhelm her, the way that all-consuming power of his threatened to tear her apart and engulf her until there was nothing left. That had been her fear. The reality was so far beyond her wildest dreams. Harry's strength and certainty were not as far-reaching as she'd imagined; he was soft and tentative with her when he confessed his numerous fears. Over this last year living together, being in love and building their new life, she had come to understand that their differences were fewer than she'd ever realized. There was a reason they'd worked so well together. There was a reason why they'd been able to grow so close, to communicate with just a look, to finish each other's sentences, to trust each other when there was no trust to be found in their shadowy realm. For Ruth knew now that she and Harry were matched in their hearts and souls. She was so much stronger than she was able to outwardly convey, and he was so much more unsure than he ever allowed himself to express. And they had come together so beautifully and perfectly in this new life.

Here and now, with Harry holding her tight and fucking her with everything he had, Ruth was more certain than ever that they were perfectly suited. As he built her up higher and higher, her heart swelled with her love for him, this slightly broken, slightly aging, slightly sad man who had made her dreams come true. He gave her everything, and she wanted to give him everything in return. She could barely speak as he pounded into her over and over and over, but she summoned her strength to say the only words she could think of. "I love you, Harry." And with one more thrust, she came with a shuddering gasp.

Ruth's fluttering, clenching orgasm sent him over the edge. He spilled inside her rather powerfully and slumped against her over the table. They both were breathing heavily. He was going soft inside her and she was nearly crushed by his weight on her, but neither of them could manage to move.

But they did manage to move eventually. They wore only their robes for the rest of the evening, not bothering to get dressed again. Harry picked up all their clothes littered all over the house while Ruth scrubbed the kitchen table to her satisfaction. As they sat there eating some leftovers for dinner and sharing a bottle of wine, Ruth couldn't stop blushing and Harry couldn't stop grinning.

"You know, we really should bleach this table. You might even need to get a new one. We cannot live and eat here after what we've done to this poor table," she pointed out.

"This table has finally seen something good happen on it. It's my favorite piece of furniture now. We're never getting rid of it," he insisted.

She chuckled, "Alright, fine. But if we have guests over, I won't let them eat here. The sex table is only for us."

Harry nearly choked on his wine as he had a fit of laughter over her words. And Ruth couldn't help but join him as his beautifully happy face went all red and his eyes watered from his hysterics.

They went to bed early that night, snuggling close together under the covers. Noodles had found his place curled up right under the bed and periodically scratching at the carpet. Ruth had initially worried he'd ruin things, but Harry couldn't care less.

"Two more days till your surgery. And I think you should probably rest up the day before. So tomorrow's our last day of fantasy. What else have you got planned?" she asked him just after turning out the light.

"I'm not sure. We certainly lived out the best of my fantasies today. I shall dream of you, my darling, and make dreams a reality when we wake up."

Ruth pressed a kiss to the hollow of his neck. "I love when you get poetic and gentle."

"I thought you liked it when I got rough and dirty?"

She smiled and yawned, replying, "I can like both."

Harry woke at dawn the next morning, feeling thoroughly rested and unbelievably happy. He softly kissed Ruth's cheek and got out of bed as quietly as he could, trying not to wake her.

He stepped into the steaming hot shower, letting the water soothe his aching muscles. He'd exerted quite a bit more energy in the kitchen than he had in quite some time. Thanks to the bad knee, he wasn't able to exercise very regularly anymore, and he'd not been working in the garden during the winter months. All in all, he was wildly out of shape, and two months of recovery from the knee replacement certainly wasn't going to help. He made a promise to himself to get fit again when he was able. Maybe more walks in the village. Perhaps he could install a bag in the garage to get in some boxing practice. He'd quite enjoyed a bit of that when he was younger. Anything to work up a sweat and get his body into better condition. After all, Ruth deserved him at his best, and he wanted to be as healthy and as strong as he could be for as long as possible for her.

His thoughts were interrupted by the very object of his affection slipping into the shower behind him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed sweet kisses to his wet skin.

"I wanted to let you sleep," he explained, placing his hands on her arms against his chest.

She hummed incoherently, continuing to pepper kisses along his neck and shoulders and back. Her touch was so gentle, it nearly made him go weak at the knees. Her love was palpable in her quiet affection. Ruth pressed her body against him. Harry could feel her breasts against his back, a rather erotic and unfamiliar sensation. Her hands began to wander his front, her nails grazing his nipples and down his belly before grabbing hold of his cock and stroking him firmly with one hand and cupping his sack with the other.

Harry had to pull away before it was too much. He turned and kissed her while lifting her leg up over his hip and entering her swiftly. They were braced against the corner of the shower, moving slowly and deliberately, careful not to slip as the hot water beat down on them. Harry made love to her quietly in the shower, lavishing her with all the gentle care he'd neglected the day before, opting for amorous passion instead. Now, though, now was a pure expression of their need for each other and a celebration of their love.

Harry was rather sure that he wouldn't manage any more than this today, but this was the best possible way he could imagine being together for the last time before his surgery. Everything would be alright, everything would work out just fine, and it would all end up better than before. Such optimism was not in either of their natures, but with the sunrise peeking through the bathroom window and their dripping wet bodies wrapped around each other, there didn't seem to be any other possible outcome.


	16. Chapter 16

Ruth sat in the dark of Harry's study late at night, staring at the email she'd received and trying to figure out what to do. She'd had a plan in mind, but now she wasn't so sure. Now probably wasn't the right time for this. If not now, though, when?

She pulled up a new email and began to type. She'd save the draft and finish it in the morning, when she had more time. For now she'd just start it and get some of her thoughts into black and white words.

"Here you are."

Ruth saved the draft with two clicks and turned to see Harry in the doorway. "I thought you were asleep."

He just grumbled unintelligibly.

She frowned. "Is everything alright?"

"You got up a while ago and didn't come back to bed," he replied with a slight pout. "What are you doing in here?"

Ruth closed the laptop and stood up to make her way over to him. "I was just getting some things organized for my class," she lied. "Let's go back to bed, alright? You should get some rest." She wrapped her arms around his middle and held him tight, pressing a lingering kiss against his neck.

Harry sighed in her embrace, feeling slightly less stressed with her holding him like this. "Back to bed," he agreed.

They got back under the covers. Ruth could sense that there was something bothering her Harry, so she rested his head on her breast and stroked his hair, lightly scratching his scalp like he liked. He hummed happily. "What's wrong, my love?" she asked quietly.

He grumbled again. "I'm having surgery in the morning."

"Yes, you are. You're going to get that dodgy knee replaced, and you'll be better than ever," she replied.

"Well, we don't know that, do we?" he disagreed.

"But you've had surgery before. I know you have. All those scars don't heal like that on their own," she pointed out.

"That was different," he replied darkly.

"How?"

"Those surgeries were to save my life. I was dying, and the doctors removed bullets and stitched up stab wounds and repaired perforated organs to save my life. This is different. This is…voluntary."

Understanding sparked in Ruth's mind. "Oh, I see. You never had time to contemplate it before. Never had a choice about it."

He hummed affirmatively. "Emergency surgery is a different sort of thing."

"I know."

"I suppose you do." Harry reached beneath her sleep shirt and traced the line of her surgery scar.

"Yes, that wasn't really much like getting my tonsils removed."

"You had your tonsils out?"

"When I was about fourteen, yeah. That's why I don't snore."

"But you do snore," he teased.

"No I don't!"

"Oh yes you do!" he chuckled. "You make the sweetest little sounds and I love it, and I don't think I can sleep without your snoring anymore."

She wanted to protest more but hesitated. "I hate it when you do that. I hate it when you make fun of me and then say something really horribly sweet so I can't be annoyed with you."

Harry laughed a bit more and rolled over so he and Ruth were lying on their sides facing each other. He pushed her hair off her face and lightly kissed the tip of her nose. "You're my whole life, Ruth," he whispered.

"And you are everything to me, my love," she murmured softly in return. "And tomorrow I'll be right by your side and holding your hand through everything. It's all going to be for the best."

They continued speaking softly to each other with whispered words of love until they fell asleep. Ruth's little snores made Harry smile as he allowed his mind and body to rest.

The next morning, Ruth made coffee for herself to bring with her to the hospital. Harry had to fast before being put under the general anesthesia, so she skipped breakfast in solidarity with him. But she refused to have that hideous hospital coffee, so she brought her own. She packed up her laptop to keep herself occupied while Harry was in surgery. And as soon as he had his bag for the hospital stay and she had run all around the house looking for her other boot that had gone mysteriously missing, they were ready to go. Harry drove to the hospital, since it would be the last time he'd be able to drive his car for another month or so.

The operating theater was all ready for him when they arrived—a few minutes late, thanks to Ruth's haphazard missing boot—and Harry was put in a wheelchair and taken straight back. Ruth squeezed his hand and gave him a kiss. "I love you, and everything's going to be fine, and I'll be right here waiting," she promised him.

"I love you, too," was all he could think to say in return.

The doctor said she'd come tell Ruth when everything was done, probably in about two hours. As soon as Harry had been wheeled away, Ruth sat down in the waiting area and took her laptop out. The draft email was right there waiting.

After speaking with Harry the night before, understanding better his fears about this surgery and wanting so desperately to make everything alright for him, Ruth deleted everything she'd begun typing and started over.

 _Dear Graham, I don't know if your sister, Catherine, has told you about me or not, but I promise that she didn't give me your contact information. My name is Ruth, and I'm writing about your father. Harry is in surgery at the moment, getting his knee replaced. Everything should be just fine, but the prospect of him having major surgery has given us a lot of time to think about what's really important. Harry doesn't know I'm writing you. But I wanted to reach out and introduce myself. We've been living together in Suffolk for about a year now, ever since we both retired from the Service. Catherine spent Christmas with us at our house. I don't know if she said anything to you. But she told me that Harry is different than she's ever seen him. And I know that he wants very much to have a better relationship with her and with you, if the opportunity presents itself. I would really like the chance to talk with you, Graham, even just over email, and maybe I could meet you sometime. We're staying in London for a few months while Harry recovers from surgery. Please write me back, if you're so inclined. I hope to hear from you. Best wishes, Ruth Evershed_

Without much further thought, Ruth pressed send. She checked her watch and saw that only about half an hour had passed. Needing more to occupy her time, she took out her mobile.

"Hello, Ruth."

She smiled at the familiar voice that answered on the other end. "Hello, Malcolm."

"How are you? How's Harry?"

"I'm alright. Harry's in surgery as we speak. Should be at least another hour till I know anything."

"Please keep me updated."

"I will. I also wanted to tell you I just sent an email to Graham."

"Oh Ruth, you didn't," he lamented. "You told me you wouldn't do anything with that information."

"All you gave me was his email address, Malcolm. But I was just wondering if you had anything more."

Malcolm sighed, clearly warring with himself on what to tell her. "Well, I know he uses that email address frequently. His IP address is in London."

"Really?"

"Yes. But I'm not sure if the exact location is much of a comfort."

"Oh?"

"He's at a drug and alcohol rehabilitation clinic."

Ruth frowned. "Well that's good, isn't it? That he's getting help?"

"According to the records I was able to find, that clinic has been his official address for the last four years," Malcolm explained. "From what I understand, most of those programs only last a few months."

"Oh I see." She thought for a moment, worried now why Harry's son would be at a rehab clinic for years. Surely Catherine would have said something if he were in really dire circumstances? But then again, maybe she wouldn't. It wasn't her place to explain her brother's life, particularly not to Ruth. "Malcolm, could you give me the name of the clinic?"

"Ruth…" he warned.

"I just want to know."

Malcolm sighed, giving her the name as she'd requested. "And what does Harry say about all of this?" he asked.

"Nothing, for now."

"I take it you haven't told him?"

"He's in surgery, Malcolm. He doesn't need anything more to worry about. Please just let me handle this in my way."

"Whatever you say, Ruth."

The two exchanged a few pleasantries and ended the call. Ruth did an internet search on the clinic where Graham was in order to pass the time, pleased at the very least that it seemed to be in a nice part of town.

But the time passed too slowly. Harry was in surgery. Graham might or might not respond to her email. And Ruth was stuck with absolutely nothing to do but worry about the man she loved.

She never should have sent that email. Not now, not when she and Harry had enough to be concerned with. And what if Harry found out what she had done? Oh he'd be furious, she knew. He didn't like it when anyone meddled in his affairs. But if she didn't meddle, nothing would ever change. And his relationship with his son still gave him nightmares, that much she knew for a fact. There was so much good in their life together, so much potential and promise and love and happiness, and Ruth just wanted to help it grow. If she could help Harry reconcile with his son, wouldn't that make things better? There was an equal and probably more likely chance, however, that she'd stuck her nose where it didn't belong. Again. This wasn't anything like Mik Maudsley, she knew, but that same voice in the back of her head was niggling at her: _Oh what have you done, Ruth? You should have left well enough alone._


	17. Chapter 17

Harry was in the hospital for four days after his surgery. Everything went absolutely perfectly, and he was up and standing for physical therapy within twenty-four hours of the operation. Ruth stayed with him as much as she was allowed, but unfortunately, they didn't have the authority of the Security Services to override hospital visiting restrictions. They didn't seem to care what Sir Harry Pearce said if it wasn't backed by the instruction of the Home Secretary.

When she was forced to go back home, Ruth did her best to keep herself entertained. It was very strange, sleeping in that bed alone. She hadn't spent a single night without Harry since she was released from hospital after her own surgery. They'd stayed at her flat for a few nights, with Harry holding her in his big strong arms to soothe her from her nightmares, and then they'd moved into his London house. And all that time, he was always with her. Now, she only had Noodles to keep her company.

She had trouble sleeping, worrying about his recovery and staying in a house that wasn't theirs and contending with the now unfamiliar sounds of London outside the windows. So rather than stare at the ceiling, Ruth got as much work done as she could until exhaustion let her pass out in bed for a few hours before she could return to the hospital and see Harry. She had lesson plans to work on. She was only teaching one class that term, since she would be in London and not in Suffolk. The university had graciously agreed to let her work remotely, using the video conferencing software so her lectures could be screened in the classroom from Harry's study. Term hadn't quite begun yet, so she was still working on outlines for her Greek History course. Immersing herself in her love of Classics was very comforting.

The day before Harry was due to be released, she received an email that was altogether unexpected and shockingly pleasant.

 _Dear Ruth, I called my sister as soon as I got your message because I was sure she blabbed to you and to Dad about me, but she swore she didn't. I guess I'll have to believe you both. I am curious how you found me, since Dad hasn't bothered to try in four years. I'm also curious about you. I can't imagine how you've managed to stay with my dad for so long. Cat says you're something special, and I'd like to find out for myself. Don't tell my dad you've heard from me. I don't know if I believe that he's really changed, or if he has, I don't know that it much matters. But I have a lot of questions for you that I hope you'll answer. Email is fine, for a while. – Graham Townsend_

Ruth read the message half a dozen times, shocked that Harry's son had not only responded to her but seemed keen to continue speaking to her. Oh Christ, Harry was going to kill her when he found out. But hopefully, if all went as planned, Ruth could get to know Graham a bit and try to smooth the way for a reconciliation between father and son.

She took a moment to compose her thoughts and wrote back:

 _Graham, I was so pleased to get your message back to me. I would be happy to answer as many of your questions as I can. There are some things I'm not allowed to say and some things it might not be right for me to say, but I will try to be as forthcoming as I can. I will also tell you that another retired officer your father and I worked with is something of a technical genius, and I asked him to find your contact information for me so I could get in touch with you without bothering Catherine or letting Harry know what I was up to. He came out of surgery just fine, by the way. He's due to be released from hospital tomorrow, but he'll be recovering for a while, so we're staying in London until about April. Eager for your questions and hoping you're well, Ruth._

Hopefully Graham would reply soon. The prospect of carrying on the beginnings of some sort of relationship with him filled her with a rather confusing amalgamation of feelings. Nervousness, over the prospect of trying to improve Harry's relationship with his son without him knowing. Excitement, that Graham had replied to her at all and seemed tentatively eager to get to know her. Fear, that she would somehow be found lacking in Graham's eyes and further damage his opinion of Harry. But all in all, Ruth found herself hopeful. Harry was coming home soon, and everything would be better.

Famous last words.

Harry had been pleasant enough in the hospital, working hard with his physical therapy, braving the pain and being shockingly compliant with the doctors and nurses. Ruth was optimistic for his recovery. But Harry was a better actor than she'd realized, for when he got in the car with her to go home, he immediately became sullen and horribly grumpy.

"What would you like for dinner?" she asked, trying to make conversation after his expression had gone dark and quiet. "Your first evening back, we ought to do something fun. I can cook something or order out."

"Anything's fine. Hospital food was rubbish," he grumbled.

"Thai food, maybe? I don't want to spend too much time cooking. I'd rather spend my time with you," she told him softly. She reached out while she was driving and put a gentle hand on his arm.

Harry just grunted unintelligibly.

Ruth sighed. This wasn't going well at all. Perhaps another tack. "I've made up the sofa for you to sleep for a few days. Your doctor said not to try the stairs until you've been walking for a full week. And I also took the liberty of buying a cane for you."

"You what?"

"Well I know the hospital gave you one, but it's metal and rather unattractive, so I went to a shop and found one that I thought might suit you better. And I know you won't be using it for very long but I hoped that maybe if you had something sort of dashing that you'd be more inclined to use it and walk around more and you'll recover quicker. Or…" She sighed. "Oh never mind."

Harry didn't answer her right away. Ruth had gotten to a stoplight so she turned to look at him. He was smiling in that besotted manner he reserved just for her.

Without meaning to, she smiled back. "What?"

"You are very sweet, darling. And I cannot believe I got so lucky to have you here with me."

She blushed very faintly and turned her attention back to the road. "I just want to help," she mumbled slightly.

"And you do," he assured her, "Always. Even when I'm a grumpy old sod, you help me anyway."

"Hazard of the job," she replied with a shrug.

"What job would that be?"

"Loving you."

"Oh it's a job, is it?"

Ruth scoffed, "Sometimes, yes."

Harry laughed his wheezy little laugh. He was in much better spirits for the rest of the drive.

When they arrived back at the house, Ruth helped Harry out of the car and carried his bag as he slowly made his way up the drive with the assistance of the ugly cane the hospital had given him. There were four steps up to the front door, and Ruth had to open the door and put the bag down inside so she could help Harry make his way in. "Right to the sofa, Harry. Sit down and rest a while," she instructed.

He was embarrassingly winded after that. He practically collapsed down as soon as he reached the sofa, resting his head back and trying to catch his breath.

"Leg up or down?" she asked.

"Down is fine," he replied, panting.

"Fine. Let's have a little rest, then." Ruth sat down beside him and kissed his cheek. He put his arm around her and pulled her against his heaving chest.

"Thai for dinner sounds good," he eventually said.

Ruth smiled. "I'll order it a little later." She hummed happily and snuggled closer to him. "It's so good to have you back. I missed you. I don't like being in this house without you. But I think I wouldn't like being anywhere without you now. It's rather lonely, sleeping alone."

"I don't think I would have slept at all if it weren't for the painkillers making me drowsy. How am I supposed to sleep without your little snores?"

"I don't snore!"

Harry chuckled happily. "Whatever you say, Ruth."

Dinner was as pleasant as could be expected. Harry's painkillers were wearing off sooner than he was due to have more, so his earlier cheer was quickly dampened. He stayed quiet and grimaced slightly whenever he moved.

Ruth helped him to the bathroom and waited outside in case he needed any assistance. With great shame all over his face, he asked for her to give him a hand changing into his pajamas, which she was perfectly able to do.

She also gave him his new cane to try out. It was a dark rosewood with a twisted pattern on the shaft and delicate foliage carved on the side of the handle. Harry didn't say anything about it. He merely nodded and used it to hobble back to the living room. He was exhausted and in quite a lot of pain.

After giving him his pills, Ruth also changed the bandages on his surgical incision. She was transported back to Harry doing the same thing for her on this very sofa when she'd been recovering from surgery. It was strangely nice to be able to reciprocate. She finished redressing the stitches and pressed a kiss to his leg and another to his lips. "There you are. Sleep well, my love. I'll be just upstairs if you need anything."

He grunted and shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable. She turned out the light and Harry watched her leave the room. He wanted so desperately to beg her to stay, to admit that he was miserable without her, to confess that he didn't want to sleep unless she was beside him. But the sofa was barely big enough for one, let alone two. And his knee probably needed the extra space. And the pain was making him weak. She would be more comfortable upstairs in bed, and that was more important. Harry settled into a rather fitful sleep.

But up in the bedroom Ruth was sitting on the edge of the bed with the light on, unable to contemplate getting ready to go to sleep. Not alone. Not again. Harry was just downstairs, and she wanted to be with him. It would only be a few days of this, she knew. Only a few days until he could attempt to climb the stairs so they could sleep together again. He needed to be down on the sofa, but she hated that he was so close and yet so far.

With her mind made up, Ruth got all ready for bed and then crept downstairs again. Harry was already sleeping, she could tell. His breathing was soft and deep and even. She smiled, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest in the shadows from the front windows. Ruth curled up in Harry's armchair and watched him until sleep claimed her as well.

"Ruth? What are you doing, darling?"

Harry's gravelly voice woke her up with a start. She groaned in pain, stretching her muscles that had seized up during her night in the armchair. "I didn't want to sleep without you," she replied in a small, hoarse voice.

"But now we're both miserable," he pointed out with a smirk.

Ruth bristled at his slight teasing. She had wanted to make a nice gesture. She had wanted him to appreciate the sacrifice she'd made in order to be near him while they slept. But instead he was mocking her. She got up and went back upstairs to shower and dress for the day, not sparing a single word for him.

Harry immediately saw that he'd upset her, and he knew why. He'd wanted to lighten the mood, but he'd clearly stepped in it instead. He'd make it up to her when she came back down. For the time being, Harry desperately needed the loo. He grabbed his new cane, which was really very beautiful and an extremely thoughtful gesture from Ruth, and hauled himself up. Everything was agony, but needs must. He shuffled down the hall to the bathroom and did his best to take care of things on his own.

When he returned, he saw Ruth breeze past him and out the front door and slam it behind her. "Oh Christ," he groaned. He couldn't recall when Ruth had been so cross she'd actually walked out on him. Well, yes he could. He had a tendency to tease her a bit too much sometimes, and she would leave to go to the university earlier than she normally would just so she could have the satisfaction of slamming the door behind her and getting away from him when she was upset. It bothered him that she still felt the need to run away from him when she was unhappy, rather than rationally sitting down and having it out. She always would do that eventually, but it was usually after storming off to cool down somewhere.

Unsure of what else he was supposed to do, Harry returned to the sofa to wait. Noodles hopped up to sit beside him, but even the cat wasn't too pleased with him, it seemed; Harry went to pet him and had gotten scratched by the ginger cat's claws instead.

Nearly an hour passed before Ruth came back home. Her annoyance had softened, and she was in rather a good mood when she returned. "Hi, sorry I took so long!" she called inside as she opened the door.

Harry frowned. Normally, he'd go greet her, but getting up took so much bloody effort, he decided against it. "Everything alright?" he called back nervously.

"Hang on!" she shouted, grunting with effort.

"Ruth, what's going on?"

She appeared in the living room dragging something rather large and awkward. "Here we are. I've got to get the groceries out of the car, but I wanted to bring this in first."

He furrowed his brow. "What is it?"

Ruth put her purse down and opened up her new purchase. "It's a cot," she explained, unfolding the small bed and flattening out the sorry excuse for a mattress. "I'll put some extra sheets on it later. But I thought I could set it up down here so I don't have to sleep in the chair again. Because that was horribly uncomfortable."

"A cot?" he repeated dumbly.

"Yes. Because I don't want to go to sleep if I'm not right next to you. Not ever again, if I can help it."

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Ruth?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Would you come over here, please? It's a bit of a chore to get up."

She crossed the room to sit beside him. "You should try to push yourself to get up and move around as much as you can, it'll be better for you," she pointed out.

"Shut up, Ruth."

"I beg your pardon!?"

"I want to kiss you and it's less fun when you're nagging me."

"Harry, I'm not nagging, I'm—"

His lips collided with hers, cutting off her retort. She melted into him, taking his face in her hands and deepening the kiss. "Christ, I love you," he whispered against her mouth.

Ruth pulled away slightly, resting her forehead against hers. "I love you, too. And I missed you. And I just wanted to try to make it better."

"It was a brilliant idea, darling, thank you." He kissed her once more.

She smiled. "Now you can fall asleep to the sounds of my snores again."

"I thought you didn't snore?"

Ruth just laughed.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry watched Ruth carefully as she got dressed. He was lying in bed, as he was most of the time now. His recovery had been extremely slow over the last three weeks, and he wasn't at all where he should have been. The lack of progress and constant pain had left him discouraged and depressed more often than not. Ruth was probably getting supremely sick of him. He was rather sick of himself, too.

But at the moment, Ruth paid him no mind as she was trying on every outfit she had in the closet. Nothing seemed to be right. Harry didn't mind watching her get dressed and undressed and dressed again. They had barely done more than share a few rather chaste kisses in the last month since his surgery, and he had missed the opportunity to gaze at her lovely body. Now, however, she was far too distracted to be enticing for him, not that she needed to try at all for that. But her brow was knit in concentration and perhaps frustration. She was wringing her hands and breathing a bit heavily.

"Everything alright?" he asked with concern.

"I can't decide what to wear," she replied.

That much was quite evident. "What for?"

"I have to go out. And nothing's quite right."

He could tell she was distracted. Her responses were vague, and she didn't spare him a moment's pause to actually look at him and answer his questions. Harry figured it wasn't worth the effort. She would tell him eventually.

After all that, Ruth ended up wearing a sweater and long skirt and boots, a rather typical outfit for her, because it was what she happened to be wearing when she noticed the time and swore under her breath. She dashed out of the room and down the stairs and out the door. She didn't tell him where she was going or how long she'd be gone or even bother to say goodbye.

Harry rolled over in bed, groaning in pain over his infernal knee and feeling pain of a very different sort settle into his chest.

Ruth drove Harry's Range Rover across town, feeling a good deal more anxious than she had in quite a long time. She had no idea how this would go. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to act? There were no proper expectations here, on either side. But Ruth had so much more riding on this, so much more dangerous hope wrapped up in this than she really had any right to. And during the whole drive, with her stomach in knots and her fingers drumming on the steering wheel and her heart pounding in her chest, Ruth could not escape the impending sense of dread that this was a horrible mistake and it was all going to come crashing down around her ears.

At last, she found a parking place and shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from fidgeting as she walked up to the entrance. There was a woman at the front desk with a severely sunny disposition.

"Hello, how can I help you today?" the bubbly blonde asked.

"I'm here for the visiting hour, I think. My name is Ruth Evershed. Graham Townsend is expecting me."

The young woman gave her a rather funny look. "Graham?"

"Yes. Is…is there a problem? Doesn't he get visitors?" Ruth stammered, a whole new set of worries flooding her mind. He had told her the time and place in his last email. He was living at the rehabilitation center Malcolm had given Ruth the name of when she'd asked before. That much had been accurate.

"Well, I suppose if Graham told you to come…" The receptionist's tone was wary to say the least. But she waved Ruth over and led her into a very pleasant common room area. "I'll go call Graham for you and let him know you're here."

Ruth was left alone at a table. Unsure what else she was supposed to do, she sat down. She wondered briefly if she would recognize him. He was Harry's son, and Catherine's brother, and she obviously knew what they looked like. There were precious few photos of Graham as a child in Harry's house, all of which she had seen when spending sleepless nights looking at anything and everything she could get her hands on while Harry was in the hospital. But Graham had been fighting against drug addiction for years and years, now. He'd spent the last four alone in this facility. Ruth had no way of knowing what the drugs and subsequent recovery had done to his appearance.

The door across the room opened with a slight squeak, causing Ruth to look up. She gasped immediately.

The young man who walked toward her frowned. "You must be Ruth."

She nearly fainted right on the spot. All she could do was stare at him. He held out his hand politely to shake hers, and she had to swallow hard before she numbly took his hand. "My god," she whispered.

"Everything alright?" he asked her, sitting down across from her at the table. There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice that further deepened Ruth's distressed.

"I didn't know what to expect," she explained, finding her voice eventually, "and you're just…Well, you look very good. Healthy."

Graham's rather full, pouty lips quirked into a hint of a smile. "Expecting an emaciated drug addict, were you?"

"I didn't know what to expect," she repeated, feeling slightly embarrassed.

The man sitting across from her—and he was very much a man, nearly thirty years old by now—was not too tall but shockingly broad and bulky. He had broad shoulders and a broad chest and a thick neck. His face still possessed a boyish roundness, and his eyes were hazel green behind a mop of sandy curls atop his head. Ruth could not stop staring at him.

"You look just like him," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. Because he did. Harry's son was practically his spitting image. She hadn't thought he would be. Catherine, other than her blonde hair and honey-hazel eyes, looked very little like her father. But Graham was nearly his twin. More green in his eyes—Catherine had gotten the color of Harry's—but the same shape and nearly identical expressions. Even the tone of their voices were similar, the cadence and the tenor.

Graham shrugged. "I guess I do. I haven't seen him in a long time."

Ruth frowned, trying to focus properly and not squander this limited time she had. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"I last saw him about six years ago. I don't know the last time he saw me," Graham answered cryptically.

But Ruth was in no mood for riddles. She was far cleverer than most people gave her credit for, and she instinctually knew that playing dumb would do nothing to ingratiate her here. "Where were you that he didn't notice or recognize you?"

"I was sleeping rough by the river. It was early winter. He was bundled up in one of those fancy coats of his with leather gloves. He was walking rather quickly. Talking to some brunette. When I saw you here, I thought for a second it might have been you, but that woman was tall. Sharp voice."

Ruth nodded. Given the timing and the description, Graham had most likely seen Harry with Juliet Shaw. Strange. Did he know that he'd seen his father walking with the very woman who had been the straw that broke the camel's back of his parent's marriage? Ruth certainly wasn't going to bring it up.

"So what about you, Ruth?" Graham asked. "Your curiosity satisfied, seeing me here?"

She watched him lace his fingers and lean back slightly in his chair in a manner shockingly reminiscent of Harry. Every detail seemed to link father and son, she could hardly get over it. "If anything, I'm more curious," she replied with a small smile.

"Ask me whatever you want. Since you already answered most of my questions over email. You worked with my dad and you fell in love on the job and bad people used you to get to him and he saved your life too many times when he shouldn't have and then you convinced him to retire when you were stabbed trying to protect him. Is that about it?"

Ruth nodded. She didn't appreciate Graham's accusing tone, but she couldn't quite fault him for it. "Yes, that's about it. And for the last year or so, we've lived together. First in his house in London, then in our own little place in Suffolk." She couldn't help but smile at that. It had been over a month since she'd seen her house with its green front door with the peeling paint. Hopefully the raining weather wouldn't damage it too much more. "So Graham, please tell me about yourself. I'm afraid I don't know much."

"Doesn't talk about me much, does he?" Graham scoffed.

For her part, Ruth didn't quite know how to answer that question. This young man was so full of resentment, it came off him in palpable waves. How could Ruth possibly reveal to him that his father had nightmares about him and wouldn't talk about him except to tell stories of him as a little boy because the reality of Graham's life just hurt Harry far too much? "No," she finally answered. "He doesn't talk about you much."

"I'm sure he wouldn't want his girlfriend to know. Not the most attractive quality, abandoning your son, is it?"

Her frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

Graham chuckled humorlessly. "I suppose I should thank him, actually. It was because of him that I ended up here. For years, I was in and out of jail. The drugs, mostly. Possession charges. Public intoxication. Trespassing and being homeless. The usual rubbish that druggies get arrested for. And for years, I was magically bailed out. Charges dropped. Money paid. Never questioned it. But I always knew it was him."

Ruth remembered suddenly that Harry mentioned it once, that he'd done his best to keep Graham out of trouble. This must have been what he meant. "It was the least he could do," she said quietly, echoing the words Harry had once told her.

"Bloody right it was. But then one day, four years ago, the money didn't come. I even asked the plods to call Thames House and ask for him. I was ready to beg him to help me. But he didn't take my call. I think they told me he was unavailable. You should know as well as I do that Harry Pearce is never unavailable unless he wants to be," Graham said darkly. "He left me to rot in jail. And since I was off my nutter on the drugs, they dropped me in here."

"And you've been a patient for four years?" she asked in slight disbelief.

Graham shook his head. "No, I was a patient for nine months. I've been living here as an employee the rest of the time. I'm a live-in counselor for the patients. Sort of a mentor they can talk to when they don't trust the doctors and nurses and head shrinkers. They had one for me when I was in here, and it helped a lot. And I like it here, so I just stay."

Ruth felt at a bit of a loss. Her mind was reeling with all Graham had told her. Harry had abandoned his son. After a lifetime of helping him when he needed it without ever being asked, he had just up and stopped one day. There must be another side to the story. Some reason for Harry's behavior. But Ruth could feel Graham's unspoken explanation and a small part of her agreed with it: Harry had given up on his son. And perhaps that was why he didn't like to speak about it. Perhaps that's why Graham still haunted Harry's dreams. She'd always thought he was too hard on himself, but perhaps in this instance, it really was Harry's fault. Graham had no love or even any respect for his father, that was plain to see. And maybe Harry deserved to be regarded that way.

"Listen, I have to go to a group therapy thing in just a minute but…I'd like for you to come back sometime. If you want."

She was mildly stunned. "Really?"

"I know what Catherine meant about you, Ruth. You're special," Graham said with a slight nod.

"Oh. Well, thank you," she replied awkwardly.

"Honestly, I do think I'm in a good enough place that I can start thinking about figuring things out with my dad. That's why I answered your email. But I'm not quite ready for the whole thing. I know myself and my recovery well enough to know that. I've been talking with my therapist about it, though, and she thinks you might be a good stepping stone. You obviously love my dad and you see good in him that I can't yet. So if you want to, I'd like to continue to get to know you. Keep emailing. Maybe we can go out for lunch sometime soon?" he asked her with just a hint of hope in his voice.

Ruth nodded. "I'd like that."

Graham smiled. Once again, he looked exactly like Harry. And it nearly shattered Ruth's heart.

They both stood up and shook hands and wished each other farewell. Graham promised to email again soon. Ruth thanked him for his time and quickly hurried out.

The drive home was nearly as stressful as the drive there. Her anxieties were all confused now. In many ways, meeting Graham had gone better than expected. But in many other ways, she was filled with much more apprehension. How could she face Harry? How could she stop herself from telling him everything and begging for an explanation? The only thing she knew for sure was that she didn't know the whole story. But figuring it out without revealing her duplicity was a problem she hadn't quite figured out yet.

By the time she parked in front of the house, she had developed a plan of action. She would go inside and she would ask Harry rather casually about Graham, whether he had any desire to try to make amends with his son. Based on his response, she could gauge where to go from there. She needed to get a sense of where he was with all of this before she revealed how she'd stuck her nose in where it probably didn't belong.

The house was quiet when she came inside. She'd been gone for a few hours, driving home the long way so she could have a little more time to think. Noodles came to greet her, winding his orange body around her ankles. "Where's Harry?" she asked the cat quietly. But as cats are wont to do, Noodles ignored her and hopped up onto the edge of the sofa to lay in the sliver of sunlight coming through the window.

Ruth went upstairs, since she could tell Harry was still up there. She did hope he wasn't still in bed. He was supposed to be walking around as much as possible. He was still in a lot of pain, she knew, but that new knee wasn't ever going to get strong if he didn't use it. "Harry?" she called softly as she entered the bedroom.

He was sitting up in bed, propped up on quite a lot of pillows. "Ruth?" His voice was a harsh whisper and there was a wild look of desperation in his eyes.

"Yes, my love," she said tentatively, unsure of what sort of mood he was in.

"You came back." The statement was said with a strange sense of amazement.

"Of course," she replied, slightly confused. And then the penny dropped inside her mind, and Ruth could feel her heart crack in two. "Oh Harry, did you think I wouldn't?"

"You were gone a very long time. And I wouldn't blame you, I'm no good to you like this."

He was pouting, and normally it might annoy her to see him wallow in self-pity like this. He was Harry Pearce! Sir Harry Pearce! He was made of tougher stuff than this!

But Ruth knew this man lying in bed. She knew his very heart. And she knew that when it came to her, his insecurities were hardly rational but they plagued him more than anyone could ever imagine.

Without a second thought, Ruth pulled her boots off and climbed into bed with him. She was careful to avoid his knee as she snuggled as close to him as she could. All other concerns flew out of her head. Nothing mattered except being here for Harry, making sure he remembered how much she loved him and wanted him and needed him. Ruth pressed soft kisses to his neck and cheek and lips. "I'm so sorry," she murmured against his skin.

A quiet rumble shook his chest slightly. "You haven't done that in a long time."

"Done what?"

"Kissed me like that."

She had to smile and kiss his cheeks and chin a few more times. "Well, I needed some time to get used to it. And in the in-between stages, it wasn't very comfortable. But I think now I really love it."

Harry reached up the trace his own jawline. "Do you?"

"Yes. I think you look incredibly dashing with a beard, Harry," she assured him. And it was the truth. He'd stopped bothering with shaving while recovering, allowing his facial hair to grow in over the last month. And by now, he had a salt-and-pepper beard that Ruth was enjoying more and more. She'd been thinking just the day before that she couldn't wait to enjoy it on other parts of her body. But she didn't need to tell Harry that now.

"I can't do much about it, so I'm glad it doesn't offend you too much," he grumbled.

He was getting maudlin again. She needed to fix this once and for all. "Harry, I really am sorry. I should have told you how long I'd be gone. It's not fair to leave you here on your own. You never would have done anything like that to me when I was recovering. I just keep thinking about how you're so much stronger than I am. And you are. But that doesn't mean that you don't love me and need me in the way I love and need you, and the recovery doesn't make you insecure like it did to me."

Harry frowned. "You were insecure? How?"

She gave him a very sad smile. "I don't think it was until you started working in the garden in Suffolk that I actually truly believed you wouldn't get bored and leave me," she admitted.

He looked at her with bewilderment. "Ruth, I love you," he told her fervently.

"I know. And I love you," she insisted right back. "And we're both a bit of a mess, I know, but perhaps we can try to be a bit better about believing each other, alright?"

"Alright," he agreed with a sigh.

Ruth kept him close in her arms, kissing his bearded cheek and running her fingers over his scalp and through his hair. She still had so much to discuss with him, so many things she wanted to ask. But right now, this was the more important thing to focus on. And really, being here with him like this, quiet and soft and loving, was the most important thing in the entire world.


	19. Chapter 19

Harry got out of the shower and slowly made his way back to the bedroom. His recovery was going better now. He could walk short distances and could take the stairs about once each day just to go up to bed in the evening and come down in the morning. He was totally reliant on the cane that Ruth gave him, which he'd hoped to avoid, but he was in less pain every day and movement was getting easier and easier. It had been just over a month now since his surgery and the doctor seemed pleased with his progress, even if Harry wasn't.

Most days, Harry would get up and shower and return to find Ruth getting dressed or checking emails on her phone or reading something. Some form of being up and beginning the day. But not so today. "Ruth, darling?" he called softly to her.

In response, Ruth groaned quietly and rolled over, pulling the duvet up over her. Harry couldn't help but chuckle slightly at her somewhat childish response.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" This wasn't the first time Ruth had done this, of course. There were still days when she had trouble getting out of bed, when she would go sullen and quiet for no reason, when she would retreat into herself with an aura of palpable sadness radiating from her. Sometimes she would kindly tell him to bugger off, and he'd leave her be until she was able to get up and get some food and snuggle on his lap for a little while when she felt better. But sometimes she would want that snuggle right away, would cling to him almost desperately, as though her fit of depression might send him running for the hills. Such a thing would never happen—particularly since Harry couldn't do much running nowadays—but Ruth needed the reassurance anyway.

Ruth mumbled incoherently.

"Yes or no?" he asked in clarification.

Instead of giving him an answer, she reached out and threw back the covers on his side of the bed. Harry really did hate the idea of getting back into bed right after he had showered and dressed, particularly since such things took more effort as he was recovering, but he couldn't very well refuse her. He propped his cane up on the nightstand and pulled off his shirt and trousers and got back into bed with Ruth.

Immediately, she snuggled up very close to him. Her face was pressed into his neck and her arm draped over his chest and her legs wrapped around his good one. "Alright?" Harry asked her softly.

Ruth hummed. "I am now."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She paused for a moment, trying to decide if she did want to talk or if she just wanted to curl up and go back to sleep and escape the pit of hopelessness settled in her chest. But there had been things weighing on her mind. Things she hadn't discussed with Harry. Things she was too afraid to bring up. But perhaps she could allay some of her fears in a roundabout sort of way. She wasn't ready to ask him about Graham. Not just yet. And Graham wasn't ready to speak to his father, despite nearly daily email correspondence with Ruth. But she could ask a little bit. She turned over slightly so they could lie face to face and look at each other. "Harry, what were you doing four years ago?"

"You don't remember?" he asked in reply, a note of surprise in his voice.

"No, I was in Cyprus four years ago," she reminded him.

Harry regarded her curiously, frowning. "Four years ago I was kidnapped and my death was staged and I was sold to a man who shackled me and put me in a chair in a warehouse."

Ruth's breath caught in her throat. The passage of time had gotten away from her. That was four years ago now.

Harry continued, "And then in what at the time was the very best and very worst moment of my entire life, you were tied up and placed in the chair in front of me."

The air between them was thick and heavy. Harry surely had no idea why she brought up that horrifying event. Truly the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Yes, it had brought her back to England and to her real name and most importantly to Harry, but at what cost? The worst cost imaginable. She still couldn't bear to think about George and Nico without feeling mildly ill. Maybe one day. But four years hasn't been enough time.

Four years. Four years ago when Graham had been left by his father, left in jail to detox and get sent to the rehab center where he now lived and worked. Graham had believed for four years that his father had abandoned him. But when he called Thames House and had been told that Harry was unavailable, he'd been told the truth. Harry had been kidnapped and tortured and both he and Ruth had nearly died.

The knowledge that Harry hadn't in fact turned his back on Graham as the young man believed was a comfort to Ruth. But it did leave her wondering whether or not Harry had any idea what had happened. Presumably whatever system he'd had in place to alert him to when Graham needed to be bailed out had not informed him of his son's whereabouts. Or perhaps Harry hadn't thought to look. Or he had and instead hadn't done anything about it. As with so many things about Harry's relationship with his children, the more information Ruth received, the more questions and confusion she had about the whole thing.

"Why did you ask?"

Harry's soft voice, matched by his soft touch as he traced the lines on her face, interrupted Ruth's inner turmoil. "Time's passing rather differently now than it used to," she replied vaguely.

"Mmm, I suppose so," he agreed.

In a strange way, this new concern filling Ruth's head had flushed out the amorphous depression that had settled in the moment she woke up that day. "Harry?"

"Yes, Ruth?"

"I could do with a distraction."

Harry saw the sparkling glint in her eye as she said that, making him grin. This was the part he could help with. Not every time, not even most of the time, but sometimes when Ruth fell victim to her depression, she sought a distraction to pull herself out of it. Something to occupy her mind and her emotions so she could forget about the unreasonable despair. And when she asked Harry for a distraction, it was one of two things: conversation or sex. And they'd already had some conversation.

Immediately distracted by his duty of providing that physical distraction Ruth asked for, Harry rolled into his side to pull her in his arms. But the movement on his knee made him groan in pain. "Oh shit," Ruth swore. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I forgot for a minute."

He settled onto his back again, relieving the pressure. "Don't apologize, Ruth, I forgot, too."

She frowned. "Do you want me to get the painkillers?"

"No, I want you to take your clothes off," he countered.

"Harry, no, that's not fair. It's no fun for me unless we can do it together."

"Oh I think we can make do."

"Even if I'm on top, I'll jostle your knee," she pointed out.

"I've got another idea," he replied cryptically.

Ruth couldn't help but admit she was a bit excited. She and Harry hadn't been intimate in over a month, which was a staggeringly long time for them. Her recovery the year before delayed them much longer, but now that they both knew exactly what they were missing, it had been a palpable loss between them. "What's your idea?" she asked him, biting her bottom lip in eager anticipation.

Harry was a bit unsure of how this would all work, if Ruth would be interested in trying it out, but Christ, he'd missed making love to her. And in this position, while certainly not perfect, they might be able to manage something at least. Damned infernal knee! Even after he finally got it replaced, it was still mucking up their sex life. But no time like the present to give it a go. "Well I think perhaps if you...erm..." Suddenly saying the words seemed a bit embarrassing.

"Come on, Harry, you've not been shy before. I mean my god, you've bent me over and fucked me on the kitchen table. Surely you can tell me what you want to try in bed," she pointed out.

Her coarse language gave him a bit of a start. He wasn't used to her casually throwing around such terms. But if she could do it, so could he. "We could try you sitting on my face so I can eat you out while you suck my cock."

Ruth's eyes went wide. That was certainly a description. "Oh. Goodness. Yes, I think that could work. Oh my." The prospect of it was already making her wet. And wouldn't Harry be pleased to find that?

"Is that alright?" he asked, nervous about her reaction.

But he needn't have worried. A smile curled on her delicious full lips. "I have been dying to see how that beard of yours feels," she told him.

And with that, Ruth threw the duvet down to the bottom of the bed and sat up. She pulled her sleep shirt over her head and shimmied herself out of her bottoms. Harry put his hand in his shorts to stroke himself to hardness as he watched her get beautifully naked.

Ruth helped remove his remaining clothes, lovingly touching his body in a manner she'd disallowed herself since his surgery. "Oh I've missed you," she murmured, leaning down to pepper kisses all over his chest and up his neck to his lips.

Harry let go of himself to pull her into his arms. "I've missed you, too," he growled in between kisses. One hand tangled in her hair, anchoring her to him, and the other found her breast, making her whimper with his touch. They continued on with this for quite a while, reveling in their intimate reunion.

Eventually, Ruth pulled away from his lips. "Right, let's give this a go," she said breathlessly. It took a bit of doing, but she clambered over Harry's body, mindful of his knee. His hands immediately found their way to her bum, kneading her flesh in exactly the way he knew she liked. She let out a soft moan.

Harry gently pulled her down onto him. He held her where he needed her and traced her folds with his tongue. This wasn't the angle he was used to for this, but beggars can't be choosers. And oh the glorious taste of her, already wet and hot. She moaned a bit louder this time as his mouth began to work on her in earnest.

Ruth was so caught up in the incredible feeling of him and pressing herself down to get the friction she wanted that she nearly forgot that she had a task to accomplish. Trying desperately to not fall victim to her own physical sensation, Ruth repositioned herself slightly and gave a few gentle, seductive licks to Harry's cock. He moaned against her and created the most incredible vibrations. She took him in her mouth and gave an exuberant moan of her own, letting Harry feel a bit of vibration himself.

Everything about what they were doing was so much better than Harry had even imagined. Ruth was quite talented with her mouth, but this was a very different angle than they were used to. And the few times he'd had her sit over him before had been in the opposite direction. Truth be told, he did somewhat miss being able to look up into her eyes and see her face when he made her come this way. But _Christ_ getting to taste her while she gave him an incredible blowjob was just too good to be true.

As Harry's tongue teased her and his lips and teeth built her up higher and higher, Ruth was unable to concentrate on what she was doing. She had to pull her mouth away so she could gasp air and press against Harry's face when she came. Her body went nearly boneless after that first orgasm in so long.

The next thing she knew, Harry's big strong hands were on her again, but not sensually this time; he was pushing her away. "Ruth," he grumbled, his voice slightly muffled, "Darling, I love your bum, you know I do, but right now there's quite a lot of it preventing me from breathing."

"Oh god, sorry!" She immediately pulled herself back up on her knees to keep from smothering Harry. "Better?" she asked.

"Mmm, much." Harry immediately set back to work on her. After all, it had been a long time for them, and he felt like he owed her as much as he was able to give.

"Harry!" Ruth gasped, unprepared for his thick fingers to slide inside her like that. She hadn't expected him to keep going after she came once. They were supposed to be doing this together. She tried her best to split her focus between giving Harry pleasure and receiving it from him, which was much more difficult than she might have anticipated. But she took his erection back in her mouth, swirling her tongue over him and sucking him hard, moving as firmly and quickly as she could. Harry had let his head drop back onto the pillow, letting his hands do the work on her so he could groan and gasp in pleasure.

"Ruth, I'm…" he strangled out, warning her just before spilling into her mouth. At almost the exact same time, he felt her clench tight around his fingers. She let him fall from her lips and she cried out as she came again.

Mindful of not suffocating Harry again, Ruth immediately rolled off him so she could catch her breath. They were both unable to move or speak for quite a while. Their panting was the only sound to be heard.

"Alright?" Harry eventually asked, tossing his arm in her general direction and coming into contact with her thigh.

"That was wonderful, Harry," she replied in a slightly hoarse voice. "Okay for you?"

"It was certainly an experience. A very lovely experience. But I think I prefer making love to you the old-fashioned way," he replied.

"Why's that?"

"I missed being able to see you. I like to watch you through some things, at least."

Ruth could help but chuckle. "Why do you want to watch me?"

"Probably habit, I suppose."

"Habit?"

Harry stroked the back of his knuckles over her bare leg as he responded, "I think for so long, all I could do was watch you. And then you were gone and I had nothing but those memories of seeing you and being near you. I never could do much more than just watch you, Ruth, not till last year. So it's a habit for me. And I love you very much, so watching you do anything is a pleasure." He wanted to add that watching her face when he made her come was the most beautiful, erotic thing in the world for him, but he didn't want to sully his earnest affection for her right now. They'd had their naughty morning in bed; now was a time for softer things.

Ruth wasn't quite sure how to answer that. It was a lovely thing for him to say, certainly, but being reminded of all that time she wasted not letting herself be with Harry, not letting him get much closer than just watching her, it still stung a bit. They'd come so very far from that, but it took so bloody long for them to really get their act together. All for the best, surely. But nevertheless, their past would always hold a bittersweet place in her heart.

"You've got a class to teach later today," Harry reminded her, hoping a change in subject was warranted after her silence.

"I know," she groaned. "But now I just want to stay in bed with you all day."

He grinned, still absolutely chuffed that she somehow wanted him and loved him. "No more of that for today. Out of bed, Evershed," he instructed.

Ruth chuckled and rolled out of bed. "I suppose I do need a shower. And I think you probably do, too. I'm sorry to get you all dirty after you just showered already."

It took Harry a bit more effort to get up, but he pulled on his shorts and stood up with his cane. "With you, Ruth, I love getting dirty any time of the day or night."

She walked around the bed, still entirely naked, and wrapped her arms around his middle, nuzzling against his chest. "I would invite you to shower with me, but I think we've pushed the limit on your knee enough for one day."

He grumbled, "Yes, you're probably right."

Ruth pulled back to look up at him. "Still feeling okay? That didn't bother you at all?"

"Fit as a fiddle," he confirmed. Harry pressed a single kiss to her lips. "Off you go now. Before you distract me again with your need for distractions."

She grinned and snuck in one more kiss before hurrying off to shower.

Later that afternoon, Ruth settled herself in Harry's study with her webcam on and her presentation slides all prepared. At exactly two o'clock, she logged in to the university website and began the livestream of her history lecture. So far, this setup had worked rather well. It was only three weeks into the semester, but everything seemed to be going just fine. She missed being in the room with her students and seeing them, but she was very good at answering questions via email. She still got to teach and the university was glad to be able to keep her on when she'd told her superiors in no uncertain terms that she would be living in London for three months and would absolutely not be driving to Suffolk twice a week to give her lectures. Malcolm had set up the kit for her once the university had agreed to the arrangement, and he'd shown her how to use everything. So far, so good.

Spoken too soon. That very afternoon, a mighty crash and a roar of pain and anger sounded through the house in the midst of Ruth's lecture. She wasn't certain if the sound had carried through to the lecture hall, but the shock on her face certainly registered.

"Pardon me for just a moment," she told her class. Ruth was rsure she'd paused her livestream when she ran to the door to call for Harry. "Are you alright? What's happened?"

"Bloody cat!" Harry shouted.

"What about the cat?"

"He found one of my guns and I tried to take it from him and he attacked me! Stupid animal!" he bellowed through the house.

"Don't you dare say that about him!" she scolded before his whole sentence registered in her mind. "Hang on, one of your guns?"

"I keep a few stashed around the house just in case." He wasn't shouting so much now. The thunk of his cane on the hardwood floor indicated he was coming down to speak with her.

"Harry!"

"Old habits. And I've got four in our house, too," he said nonchalantly. "Darling, I do hate to interrupt your class, but I think I need a bit of assistance."

He rounded the corner and Ruth saw red stains seeping through the sleeve of his shirt. "Jesus that's a lot of blood."

Harry only shrugged. More blood than he'd spilled in quite some time, but by far not the worst he'd experienced, not by a long shot.

Ruth went back to the desk to announce that class would have to be cut short. She returned to see her student's faces in utter shock. And then she saw that she had not, in fact, paused the livestream. "Oh bollocks," she swore quietly. That earned her a few chuckles from the class. "Right, well, I'm afraid we'll have to end early today. I'll see about doing a makeup lecture before the end of the semester. I'm available by email to answer any questions." She was about to sign off when she added, "I will not, however, be answering any questions about anything you may have overheard just now."

And with that, she closed the program and shut off the computer, turning her attention back to Harry.

"As soon as I clean up those scratches, you're going to show me exactly where every single gun is in this house, Harry," she demanded sharply.

"I forgot about them, honestly. How Noodles found one is a bit beyond me."

"How have I never found any of them?"

"I'm the one who does all the cleaning," he teased.

Ruth just rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm going to clean your wounds now, so you be nice to me."

Harry just gave a light laugh and kissed her cheek. Somehow, this had been the strangest day they'd had in quite some time. Ruth's depression, some experimental sex, feline-inflicted injury. And Ruth had been worried he'd get bored in retirement. What a silly thought that seemed now.


	20. Chapter 20

A breeze rustled the pages of Ruth's book and the hem of her dress, causing her to pause reading and hold down her skirt. The interruption allowed her to look over at Harry, sitting beside her on the picnic blanket up against a tree. He was concentrating on his notebook, his pen scribbling all the lovely details of their trip that he'd turn into his next book.

She sighed in pure bliss. After months of recovery, Harry was finally walking well enough that they could take a trip together again. This time, they were spending two weeks in Rome. They'd initially thought only one, but there was just so much to see and do, and there was no way of knowing if they'd ever make their way back here, not when there were so many other places for them to visit.

"How's it going?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't be annoyed by her distraction.

Harry finished the sentence he was writing and looked up to smile at her. "Very well, I think. Just working on describing our walk yesterday at the moment."

Ruth frowned. "What are you writing about our walk yesterday?"

"That the Via Veneto is a lovely street and the more financially inclined might enjoy a bit of shopping in a place where the service and grandeur is unparalleled," he replied simply.

She sighed. "Alright, well don't add in anything else. Your readers don't need to know that you tricked me into buying a dress."

Harry let out a bark of laughter. "I did no such thing, Ruth. We were walking along, happy as can be, and you stopped out front of Valentino and admired that beautiful dress."

"Yes, and that's all I planned on doing! It's a pretty dress!"

"Well, it is a very pretty dress. And it looks absolutely stunning on you," he told her softly.

Ruth traced her hands down the line of the bodice of the exquisite dress she still couldn't believe Harry had bought for her. But the intricate red lace and simple, elegant silhouette caught her eye.

"You used to wear red," Harry had commented.

"Oh?"

"Yes, you used to have a jacket just that color you used to wear. Before."

She had nodded in understanding. Yes, before. Before she had been swallowed by the shadows. Before she really understood what it was to live amidst deception and death and destruction at every turn. Before Cotterdam.

Everything from that life seemed so very far away now. Had she really ever been so naïve and hopeful? Had she really ever been so scared of everything? That had been the real change in her, she knew. She had once been optimistic and enthusiastic, full of bright color and an easy smile. But she'd also understood how fragile that all was, how her façade of eagerness could be so easily torn down by an unkind word from her colleagues. She'd fallen head over heels in love with her boss and she'd been horrified by the thought of anyone finding out. That Ruth had worn red.

But then she'd been on the run. Colors made her noticeable, so she avoided them. Even when she was in Cyprus, when the sunshine and George's gentle hand and Nico's bright smile had given her the illusion of safety, she'd only ever worn muted grays and blues. Color was from her former life. And when she came back to London amid a hailstorm of blood, she had no desire for color at all. She wanted to keep her head down, dressed in dark tones. She hadn't cared what anyone thought after that. She had her own demons of guilt and grief to contend with; she didn't need to go borrowing heartache from anyone else.

"I wanted to be noticed," she had confessed, still looking at that red dress in the window. "I was so painfully shy all the time, so afraid of being shoved aside and overlooked. I knew I was smart and I knew I was good at the job."

"You were the best," he interjected.

That made her smile. "Perhaps. But back then, I was always worried I wasn't enough. The colors and the patterns and the loud jewelry were all things that made me smile. Made me feel like I could keep smiling even when I was dying of loneliness inside. And wearing that bright red jacket made me feel like maybe someone might see me. Might notice I was there and take enough of an interest so I wouldn't always have to be alone."

"I noticed," he said softly, taking hold of her hand. "That was what first caught my attention. You were the only one wearing bright colors and patterns. I got a bit annoyed at first, since spooks aren't supposed to be noticed. But I already knew you were bright and funny and utterly brilliant and shockingly beautiful. And with the colors, I suppose my eye was just drawn to you more and more. And then no matter what you wore, I couldn't stop looking at you."

Ruth gave a sad little sigh. "It feels like so long ago, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't have to," Harry offered.

"Oh?"

"The color. Being noticed. We don't live in shadow anymore, Ruth. And I think that if this red dress makes you smile, you should have it."

Her eyes went wide. "Harry, no, I can't have that dress," she protested.

But Harry had made up his mind. He pulled her with him into the boutique. "Come along, Ruth, we're going to get you that dress." He greeted the shop assistant with a charming smile. "Mi scusi per favore, hai quel vestito rosso in una taglia quarantadue?" he asked, pointing to the dress in the window that Ruth had been admiring.

"Sì, naturalmente signore." The woman went to one of the racks and pulled out the dress in Ruth's size.

"Go on, darling, try it on. If it fits, I'm going to buy it for you," Harry insisted.

Knowing she had no way of winning this battle against him, she took the dress into a fitting room. But upon looking at the tag, she nearly fainted. "Harry!" she hissed through the curtain.

"Yes?"

"I am not trying this dress on. I don't care if it fits. We're not buying it."

"Of course we are, don't be silly," he dismissed.

"Do you have any idea how much this costs?"

"I'd guess about three thousand euros," Harry stated, as though that fact didn't bother him a bit.

Ruth looked at the price tag that read 3,150€ and shook her head. "You are unbelievable."

"Quit dawdling, Ruth, and try it on. Please."

And that was how Ruth ended up with the most expensive piece of clothing she had ever owned. The cap sleeves and fitted bodice and tea-length skirt all suited her perfectly. Harry had beamed to look at her in the dress. The shop assistant nodded approvingly. And Ruth herself had to admit it was surprisingly comfortable. She'd changed back into her clothes while Harry paid for the dress and ensured it was properly wrapped up.

Ruth wore her new dress, at Harry's insistence, on their walk to the Borghese Villa that next morning. They wandered the exquisite halls filled with the greatest of Bernini's sculptural works and paintings by Caravaggio and Titian and countless others. Ruth had devoured the guidebook and done research of her own before they left on their trip, so she played docent and helped Harry fill his pages with notes as she told him all the stories she'd learned about all the art and architecture and the history of the great Borghese family.

In order to give Harry's knee a bit of a rest—he may have been able to walk unaided, but Ruth still worried—they decided to have a picnic in the villa gardens. Ruth was reading Virgil in Latin as they shared a bottle of cheap red wine and munched on their sandwiches in companionable silence.

"I do love that dress on you," Harry noted once again.

Ruth averted her gaze and smiled, still embarrassed to be the recipient of such extravagance. "I shouldn't have let you buy it. You can't keep throwing money all over the place like that. You're technically a pensioner."

Harry just laughed. "My books sell just fine, and I may be a pensioner, but that pension I bullied Towers into giving me is more than enough for me to throw money around however I like. I'm not buying custom Saville Row suits anymore, and each one of those cost about what that dress did, so please don't worry. We'll be perfectly fine for money for the rest of our lives."

"Are you sure?" she teased. "I might have gotten a penchant for designer clothes now. This is the nicest thing I've ever owned. Perhaps I want a whole wardrobe of Valentino and Chanel and Versace and Dior. Then what will you do?"

He reached out to brush a tendril of hair from her face. "I'll buy you all the designer clothes you want, darling. If you develop a penchant for diamonds and sports cars, however, then we might have a problem. I might have to borrow money from the Queen."

"Of course. Where else would a knight of the realm get a loan?" she laughed. Ruth leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, humming happily. "You do spoil me, Harry."

"I like being able to spoil you. Not just because I have the money for it, but I have you to spoil. And I don't think I could spoil you, Ruth. You're far too noble to allow it."

"Yes, I like to think so." She shifted where she sat so she was leaning against Harry, snuggled up as close to him as she could manage, and picked her book back up and returned to her reading.

Harry watched her for a moment and kissed the top of her head before he went back to his notes and continued working on his book. The breeze made music in the trees, and the sounds of the city were dulled in the woods. The early summer sun was shining bright in the Roman sky. A perfect day.


	21. Chapter 21

It had been Ruth's idea, initially. That brilliant mind of hers, always at work. Harry had been a bit reticent at first for a variety of reasons, the chief of which was wondering if it was really something that would turn him on. He was very much aroused by Ruth as she was now, sharing his life and his bed in their cozy house in Suffolk. He didn't really have any need for roleplaying in their sex life.

"What brought this idea on?" he asked in amusement when she first brought up the idea.

She blushed rather prettily. "Well you're supposed to be exercising more and using that new knee of yours to build up strength."

"And having sex is the best form of exercise, I agree," he interjected with a cheeky grin.

Ruth swatted his arm. "I was also thinking about before your surgery, in the London house, making your fantasies come to life."

Understanding began to dawn on him. "And was is this one of your fantasies?" he asked in amused awe.

"Well not exactly." Ruth averted her gaze for a moment before looking back at him. "But for a very long time, Harry, I only ever really saw you on the Grid. I fell in love with you there, while we were working. And after what we did on the kitchen table, I think a desk might be a nice change of pace, too."

And that had decided it. The very next day, before Ruth got back from her morning class, Harry got dressed just as he used to when he was Section Head. It was the first time he'd worn one of his old suits since that fateful day with the Gavriks. He hadn't known then that he would be getting dressed for his last day working for Five. He certainly hadn't known that his whole world would be turned upside down, what with Elena's treachery revealed to him and to Sasha and to Ilya, with Ruth's beautiful plea to run away with her, with Sasha's violent retaliation, with Ruth nearly bleeding out in his arms. He'd given Towers his resignation over the phone. Hadn't even bothered going to Whitehall. After that day, that fateful day, Harry hadn't stepped foot back in Thames House—Dimitri had assisted Section X in gathering all of Harry's personal items from his office and bringing them to his house. He hadn't wanted to leave Ruth's side for a moment. And he hadn't since then.

But now he was in his home office, rearranging things as best he could. The wood desk was nothing like the sleek glass one he'd had on the Grid, but when he propped up his laptop to look like his old desktop monitor, taken out some old notes he'd kept to make them look a bit like files, the overall effect was very reminiscent. All they were missing were the windows and the red wall.

Downstairs, he heard the front door open. "Ruth?" he called down.

"Yes, my love, I'm home," she called back.

That still warmed his heart every single time. "What are you wearing?"

There was a slight pause. "I'm sorry?"

Harry chuckled. "I've put some things out for you, if you'd like to change and come join me."

He heard her climb the stairs and go right into their bedroom. "Oh!" The realization of what they were doing obviously dawned on her. Harry had gone through her wardrobe to find some old things he was sure he'd seen her wearing at work. He ended up with a black skirt that went down to her knees, a pair of sensible boots, and a blue blouse with a black cardigan over it. Those dark, muted colors she'd taken to after her return. Much more elegant and professional than the brighter tones and odd-fitting outfits from before her exile; she was much more conventionally attractive in tailored dark clothes, but he had seen past the garish jackets and chunky jewelry and fallen in love with her anyway.

It had made complete sense to him, at the time, though it had saddened him greatly to see that the Ruth he'd gotten back was no longer the vibrant Ruth she once was. She had grown and changed since they were ripped apart—as had he—and he grew to love her in a much deeper way than he would have been able to before. But the clothes, more than anything else, served as a visual reminder that a part of Ruth Evershed was gone forever.

Well, perhaps not forever. She had, rather begrudgingly, allowed him to buy that red dress for her in Rome. She'd confided in him that piece of herself that wanted attention all those years ago, that had yearned to be noticed in her bright clothes. How upon her return, she had shunned the attention just as desperately as she'd craved it before. Where she'd once feared loneliness, she later sought isolation. And now, now that they were safe and whole and together and slowly healing themselves and each other, she was starting to appreciate color once again.

Ruth had to hand it to Harry. He was nothing if not decisive. They'd discussed the idea of doing a bit of roleplaying, pretending like they were back on the Grid together. And yes, it was her idea. How many times over the years had she gotten distracted watching him through the window to his office, imagining the two of them together, wondering how it would feel to have him make love to her on that glass desk, to push the suspenders off his broad shoulders, to have the aggressive red wall in the background of her vision as he thrust into her?

Harry seemed to have come around to the concept and gone right ahead planning it all out. The clothes he'd laid out for her were exactly what she used to wear to work. She briefly wondered if they still fit. But of course they did; her lifestyle hadn't actually changed too much since leaving the Security Services. Just less anxiety caused by threats to her life and more sex. A very welcome trade-off.

It felt odd, actually, putting these clothes back on. Seeing herself like this again. Harry hadn't picked out any stockings for her to wear, though not having to go through the efforts of taking them off her during foreplay was probably a better idea. But otherwise, Ruth saw in the mirror the Senior Analyst of Section D. She could be ready to grab her coat and purse and run out the door to catch the bus to Thames House. That life had felt so distant when she woke up this morning, but now it had taken hold of her as though it had never left.

Ruth shook herself a bit. No use getting nervous. This was supposed to be fun. She'd wanted to have sex in Harry's office and this was as close as they were going to get. They were going to enjoy themselves, live out all the wonderful things they wished they could have shared back then.

It took her a moment to come up with a pretext for going into 'his' office, and she was off down the hall. There was a moment of hesitation when she almost knocked but just opened the door without announcement. Because Ruth Evershed, Section D Intelligence Analyst, never knocked.

"I've narrowed down the potential dealers to four likely candidates," she announced brusquely, coming right in and standing beside the desk exactly as she used to.

Harry was sitting at the desk and looked up at her abrupt entry. "I see. And who might these lucky contenders be?"

Ruth was at a bit of a loss. She hadn't prepared for an actual work-related conversation. Knowing she needed to improvise, she wracked her brain to come up with some plausible options for the mysterious arms dealer she'd made up. "A Saudi oil tycoon and a—"

"Ruth," he interrupted, standing up from the desk.

She was a bit pleased she didn't have to go on. "Yes, Harry?"

"You're not wearing any stockings," he said quietly, coming to stand just a bit too close to be professional.

A shiver passed over her body. She could almost feel his breath on her. The anxiety of the encounter was starting to make her heart race. Her chest felt tight, and all she wanted was to run away to the safety of her desk and get back to her work, but she felt herself rooted to the spot.

"Did you hope I'd notice?" He was practically purring in her ear as he turned, backing her against the desk and letting his fingers drift below the hem of her skirt to her bare thigh.

Ruth couldn't seem to find the words. She gasped sharply at his touch. So intimate, so forbidden, such a bad, bad idea.

But Harry continued, "Everyone else is gone. There's no emergency to attend to. The blinds are closed. And you're not wearing any stockings, Ruth."

A small whimper escaped her as she felt his hand move to her inner thigh. Harry nearly lost it right then and there. He had no idea how erotic this would be, returning to their old habits. There was a sort of power in wearing a Saville Row suit and silk tie that he hadn't realized he'd lost. And now being able to be like this with Ruth the way he'd always wanted? It was extremely arousing.

Ruth's hands were shaking as she placed her hands on the lapels of his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. He wasn't wearing suspenders, but he'd given those up a few years ago, hadn't he? She concentrated on the feel of his hand moving up her leg. Everything was full of the familiar tension and terror that had plagued her life every single day in Thames House. But in Harry's arms, nothing could go wrong. She pulled him in to kiss her and closed her eyes and tried to focus properly.

"I've wanted you for so long, Ruth. I need you," he muttered against her lips. He shrugged his jacket off and started pushing her cardigan off her. He pulled away from her kiss to swipe the papers off the desk so she could sit up. With an excited grin, he lifted her left leg and pulled her boot off, kissing her from ankle to knee, before moving on to the right leg. Ruth was breathing rather heavily, her hands reaching out to pull him back to her. Harry stood between her open legs and let his hands go up her blouse. Her skin trembled wherever he touched her. When he palmed her breast through her bra, she moaned aloud. "Shh, not too loud. We don't want anyone to hear us," he reminded her.

The look of surprise on her face nearly made him laugh. She was really buying into the roleplaying, and he was enjoying it much more than he'd imagined.

Harry smiled against her neck and pulled her top off over her head and unhooked her bra before she really knew what he was doing. Yes, focus on what Harry was doing. Harry who loved her and kept her safe. Harry always kept her safe. Everything would be alright. Harry would save the day, like he did countless times. Harry would always save her.

"Oh Harry," she moaned softly, running her fingers through his hair as he swirled his tongue over her breast.

"Ruth, I need you." His erection was pressed against her. "We don't have much time before Tariq bursts in or the Home Secretary calls," he reminded her.

Harry loved her. Harry kept her safe. Harry would burn the world for her sake. Harry would commit treason for her. Harry would throw his whole career away to save her life. Harry would sacrifice himself to apologize for it. And Harry had done exactly that.

All the death and destruction and horror, all the loss and fear and trauma. It all flooded through her in a powerful wave of memory. Everything she'd worked so hard to leave behind, it was all back like never before.

Somewhere, Ruth realized that Harry was pulling her skirt and her knickers off her. She could hear the zip of his trousers in the distance. His hands were on her. She could hear her own moans of pleasure. She couldn't feel anything, not really. Harry's body, still mostly clothed, was on top of her now, moving inside her. Ruth closed her eyes and canted her hips to give him a better angle, wrapping one leg over his hip as he thrust over and over. His hot breath on her neck was a familiar sensation, though it brought her no comfort now. She held back tears she didn't quite know the origin of, squeezing her eyes tight and waiting for Harry to be finished. Surely he would finish soon. She wanted to run away, wanted to escape and hide.

Harry was pounding into her quite frantically, chasing his completion inside the delights of her body. He never could have actually done this on the Grid, never would have dared. But the strength and control he had in that office, the power to topple kings and level cities and bring terrorists to their knees, that was the kind of virility that he'd possessed when Ruth first fell in love with him, and that was what he wanted to prove to her now. He felt his body tense up like a rubber band and then snap as he came hard, muffling his groan of pleasure against her neck.

He slipped out of her and leaned against the desk beside her flushed, naked body, trying to catch is breath. He could feel her trembling as she sat up. Harry wasn't quite aware of anything, his eyes closed in bliss.

Ruth thought her knees might give out beneath her as she stumbled out of the office and into the bathroom. She turned on the shower. The sound of it would fill her mind, the rushing water would cleanse her. She didn't even bother checking the temperature as she got in and closed the shower door behind her. But it was then that she collapsed. Ruth curled up on the floor. Water was splattering all over the glass walls, inhibiting her clear view of the bathroom outside of the elegant shower stall. She was wet and shivering. Perhaps the water was too cold. But she would be shaking regardless. Perhaps the water was too hot. Ruth couldn't tell the difference.

Harry began to come-to and realized he was slumped over on the desk with his trousers around his ankles and still wearing his shirt and tie, and Ruth was nowhere to be found. He pulled on his shorts and removed the rest of his clothes, leaving them in the office for the time being. As he undressed, he came to the stark realization that he'd been so focused on the fantasy of what they were doing that he hadn't taken the time to make sure Ruth was satisfied. She probably wasn't. Well, it was time to find her and finish her off.

The sound of the shower took him by surprise. Ruth wasn't normally one to jump out of bed to wash off, so to speak. They usually liked to snuggle for a little while and fall right to sleep or else take a lazy bath or shower together. After all, their life had a comforting lack of strict time tables for the most part.

"Ruth?" he called tentatively, entering the bathroom. "Darling, is everything alright?"

It took him a minute to find her. The shower was going, steaming up the glass. But there was a shadow on the floor. He opened the shower door to find her curled up in the fetal position, shaking and shivering.

Without hesitation, Harry got into the shower and down on the floor. Thankfully his knee was all healed and he could bend like this without any problems. "Ruth?" He was afraid to touch her, not knowing what was going on. Her eyes were staring blankly ahead, unperturbed by the water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. She didn't even seem to register that he was there.

But Harry couldn't take it. He couldn't just leave her. He couldn't bear not to touch her. As gently as he could, he reached out, putting one hand on her shoulder. And like a ragdoll, she allowed him to pull her into his arms and hold her. He had her nestled against his chest, stroking her wet hair.

To his eternal relief, she started to relax in his arms. The shivering began to dissipate and the tension in her limbs got released.

"Harry," she breathed, barely audibly.

"I'm here, Ruth. I'm right here," he promised, still holding her tight.

Ruth exhaled, feeling her mind return to her body, feeling herself actually feel like herself. "We're home and we're safe," she reminded herself out loud.

"Yes, darling, we are." He paused for a moment, wondering if he should just let it go, but that was no way for them to treat their relationship now. And so he asked, "What happened, Ruth? What's wrong?"

"I think we had bad sex for the first time," she remarked flippantly, still trying to tease out in her own mind what exactly had happened, biding her time to figure out the exact answer to that question.

Harry felt like all the air had left his body. An ache of anxiety rumbled in the pit of his stomach. "I'm sorry. I got a bit carried away." He wasn't sure what else to say.

"No, you were fine. Wonderful. It wasn't your fault, it was me. It was everything about that, going back to how we were. I thought I could do it, but I'm just not strong enough yet. I don't know if I ever will be," she tried to explain.

"And you don't have to be," he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Ruth closed her eyes, feeling the safety of his embrace. "Who we are now isn't who we were then. I know you loved me then and you love me now, and I loved you then and I love you now, but it's different for me. For me, you were always some unattainable god, Harry. The living symbol of everything I wanted and wasn't worthy of. The work we did, the work we were...we were privileged to do, we saved countless lives and protected the nation, but the cost of all that heroism was living in darkness and grief and fear every moment of every day. And my god, the number of people we couldn't save, the amount of destruction we caused because we loved each other. Nowadays I barely think about it, honestly. But wearing those clothes again, pretending we were back on the Grid…I felt myself float away. I just waited till you were done and ran away, like I always do when things get too difficult. I run away like the weak coward I am."

For a moment, Harry genuinely thought he might be sick. But he swallowed hard and pushed through, trying to come to terms with Ruth's horrific verbal self-flagellation. He didn't quite know where to begin. "Jesus, Ruth, I'm so sorry."

"No, Harry, it's not your fault."

"Yes, it is. I should have known better before we started all this. That was my doubt, at first, because our life here and now is so much better than it's ever been before, I didn't think I wanted to revisit our old life. And then I got so caught up in the awful masculine power of it all that I didn't even pay any attention to you." He stopped to press small kisses to her cheeks. "You are everything to me, Ruth. Loving you is all that matters to me in the whole world. And to think that I didn't even notice how distressed you were just makes me sick."

She in turn kissed his neck and told him, "It's alright, Harry. None of this was what either of us expected. It's alright. The whole point of roleplaying is to get lost in the fantasy. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. I just didn't quite realize until it was too late that the fantasy was really my nightmare."

"Alright, no more looking back," he said firmly. "No more regrets and longings from the past. We appreciate what we have now and in the future."

Ruth pressed herself impossibly closer in his embrace, finally sighing with true relief. The anxiety and the panic and the distress and the screaming inside her head were all gone now. She was left feeling the strength of their love, the comfort of Harry's nearness, the calm of their happiness. She was a little tired from the emotion of it all, but at last her mind was quiet again. "Yes, my love," she whispered to Harry.

He continued to hold her under the spray of the shower for a few more minutes before gently suggesting they get dried off and take a nap. They could get up later for dinner feeling refreshed. And to Ruth, that sounded like the perfect idea. Harry turned off the water while Ruth got towels for each of them. He made a mental note to take care of all their clothes and fix up the office while Ruth was sleeping. And then perhaps they could put all of this behind them, burying the past where it belonged.


	22. Chapter 22

_Ruth,_

 _Glad you're both back in your home where you're happy. I know how depressing London can be, even though I've happily lived here all my life. I can imagine it's not a place the two of you enjoy being in for too long now. Thanks for the photo from Rome. You look really beautiful and happy, which I expected. But I didn't know he's got a beard now. He looks really good, actually. Maybe I should grow one, since you insist I look like him. It was weird for me to see him. In the months we've been chatting, I've gotten sort of used to the idea of him. But seeing his face for the first time in so long was strange but also good in an odd way. I have never seen him look happy like that. Maybe when I was really little, there was a Christmas where we were all together that I remember being happy at, but I was so young, I don't really remember him, if that makes sense. Catherine's told me that he's different now, and you've told me, too, but I guess it's just strange for me to actually see him look so different. With a smile and a beard. Anyway, glad you're well._

 _Not much new on my end. Patients come and go, and I do as best I can for them. Still loving the job. And no, I'm not going to ask Sharon out. It's unprofessional, so you can stop pushing._

 _Oh, one thing I did want to run by you. I'm due to take holiday time in October. I know you'll be teaching then, so you won't be abroad on one of your trips. I was thinking it might be time for me to come up to Suffolk. Let me know what you think._ _—Graham_

Ruth read the latest email from Harry's son with a flurry of feeling. She'd last written him a few weeks before, when they'd returned home from their trip to Rome. She had sent him a photograph of Harry and herself smiling in front of the Trevi Fountain, when he still had the beard he'd grown during his knee surgery recovery. He hadn't shaved it off till they'd returned home.

She looked up from her laptop over to where Harry was trimming back some of the hedges in their garden. She smiled, watching him hard at work. He'd lost weight after the surgery, and was exercising more than he'd been able to before, but he otherwise looked just as he had the day Ruth had stood on the hilltop and held his hand and asked him to leave the Security Services with her. Though thankfully, they'd both healed quite a bit since that fateful day.

Graham's email had surprised her, when he mentioned that he had not seen his father's face in so long. He was right, of course, that Ruth had spoken about Harry at great length in their correspondence, always trying to ease Graham into the idea of making some contact with Harry. Once Ruth herself had learned that Harry had not abandoned his son with any purpose, she redoubled her efforts in trying to get Graham to agree to see Harry and speak with him. She knew it wasn't her place to tell him the truth of what had happened when Harry had failed to bail him out of jail, that Harry had been kidnapped and tortured and Ruth herself brought into the darkness once again; that was something for Graham and Harry to confront together on their own.

Now, however, it seemed Graham was getting close to that all-important confrontation. He wanted to come to Suffolk, to see them in their home. Ruth would tell him to come, of course, but she needed to put quite a bit of thought into how to break all of this to Harry. It would need to be done carefully. But now that she had such a strong relationship with both of the Pearce men—despite one going by Townsend—she felt confident she could properly broker a peace between them. After all, Harry still wanted to know his son, still loved him and wished only the best for him, still harbored all those awful regrets from his failings as a father. And Graham was a clever, curious man, who was starting to see the change in Harry and was interested in learning more for himself. Surely that could begin to mend the relationship.

The phone rang, causing Ruth to close her laptop and bring it into the house. She put it on top of the kitchen table, to return to Graham's email later. She answered the phone just before the answering machine picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ruth!"

The voice on the line made her smile. "Catherine! Oh how are you, love? Where are you?"

Catherine's sweet laugh sounded through the phone. "I'm in Copenhagen at the moment. And I'm doing really, really well," she replied. There was a smile in her voice that pleased Ruth to hear. "Actually, I've been exhausted lately, but that's to be expected."

"Oh? And why's that?" Ruth asked.

There was a pause. "Is my dad around? I need to talk to him," Catherine said somewhat nervously.

The abrupt change in tone and request to speak with Harry solidified Ruth's suspicions about the nature of the call. "Yes, he's outside. Since we spent early spring in London while he recovered from surgery, he didn't have a chance to get to get to the garden the way he wanted to. He's been spending every day since our return from Rome working on getting everything cleared and planted and such."

"Oh, he isn't working on another book about Rome? He wrote one after you went to Paris and another after Munich last year."

"Yes, he's writing in the evenings while I work on lecture notes for my summer course. It's rather nice, working together in the office like that. I think he plans on getting the draft to his editor next week. But he can tell you all about that. Let me get him for you," Ruth told her.

"Ruth?"

"Yes, Catherine?"

"Are you doing alright?"

Ruth smiled once more. Catherine was so like her father sometimes. Single-minded on a goal and then suddenly remembering other things like polite consideration and quickly rectifying the oversight. "I'm doing very well, thank you. It's nice to be back home and getting back into a routine. I'm just happythat Harry's all recovered and isn't in pain anymore."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"If you'll hang on a moment, I'll bring the cordless outside to Harry." And with that, Ruth hurried back out into the garden. She placed her hand on the end of the phone to shout, "Harry, phone for you!"

Harry put the hedge trimmers down onto the ground and wiped his brow with his forearm. "Who is it?" he asked.

"You'll see," she answered, handing him the phone and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, Ruth, I'm all sweaty," he complained on her behalf.

"I know, but I like you that way," she teased. "I'm going back inside."

Harry rolled his eyes and watched the subtle sway of Ruth's bum in her skirt as she walked away before he put the phone up to his ear. "Harry Pearce," he announced.

"Hi, Dad."

"Catherine! How lovely to hear from you, sweetheart!" he greeted happily.

"I wanted to call you first."

"Call me first about what?" he asked suspiciously. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" she assured him quickly. "And actually, I don't really know why I called you first. I mean before Mum. But I just knew I wanted to tell you first."

He frowned, listening to his daughter babble on a bit. "Tell me what, Catherine?"

"I'm pregnant."

Harry felt his heart skip a beat and his mind fill with a strange high-pitched ringing. "I…I think I may have blacked out, can you say that again, please?"

"Fabian and I are having a baby. I just found out for sure from the doctor about an hour ago. You're going to be a grandfather sometime in January," Catherine explained slowly.

"Christ," Harry breathed.

"Oh. I see," she said, a brittle and disappointed tone entering her voice.

"No, I'm pleased," he corrected quickly. "I mean, if you are."

"I am," she confirmed.

Harry nodded. "Good. That's good. I…it's just a bit of a surprise. But god, Catherine, you're going to be a wonderful mother. And I'll be a grandfather. Good lord."

"I think you'll be a very good grandfather. And you'll get lots of time to be one."

"Will I?"

"I hope so. Fabian and I were talking about how all the travel won't be feasible while I'm pregnant and after we have the baby, we'll all need some stability. We're hoping to find positions in film production in England. That way we can be near the family."

Harry thought his heart might burst with joy. "That's wonderful, Catherine. Really. When will you be in town? When can we come see you?"

Catherine laughed, "I'll give you a call when we know. We're in Denmark at the moment. It's all really sudden and we don't have a real plan yet, but we'll be coming very soon, I hope."

"Wonderful," he said again. And really, there weren't any more words for it. Everything she was saying was just wonderful.

Inside the kitchen, Ruth was back on her laptop stealing glances outside the window to where Harry was standing. She saw his face absolutely light up with joy as he spoke to Catherine. He was happy. Whatever Catherine had needed to tell him—and Ruth did have some idea of what it might be—it had made him really happy. And that was the best news Ruth could have asked for.

She returned to Graham's email, still trying to come up with her response. Perhaps she'd wait to send it for a few days, depending on what Catherine's news was, if she might want to give Catherine a chance to tell her brother first. But Ruth would be sure to tell Graham that he was of course welcome to come to Suffolk in October. And that he shouldn't let happiness pass him by when it came to Sharon. He'd told her of his flirtation with the receptionist at the clinic, the sunshiney blonde who Ruth had met that afternoon. Apparently they were good friends at work but never went out together, despite Graham fancying her something fierce and him overhearing her singing his praises to one of the nurses. Yes, perhaps he was right, it was unprofessional to try to date a coworker. But it had been very unprofessional for Harry to pursue Ruth when they worked together, and she had clung to that far too much; they might have gotten more of a chance to be happy if Ruth had been brave and said to hell with professionalism when it came to matters of the heart.

But movement outside the window distracted her again. Harry was coming inside with the phone. He had a slight spring in his step. Ruth closed her laptop once more to greet him. "Catherine had good news, I take it?" she asked, seeing the beaming grin on his dear face.

Harry laughed lightly. "I'm going to be a grandfather."

"Oh Harry, congratulations!" Ruth got up from the table to give him a celebratory hug. Her suspicions were right on the mark. It was nice to see that her analyst skills were still sharp.

"And Catherine and Fabian are planning to move to England before the baby's born. She's due in January."

"That is the best news. Are you pleased?" she asked, her arms still around him.

Harry kissed her soundly. "Immensely pleased. Though I hope you don't mind sharing your bed with a soon-to-be grandfather."

"The reproductive habits of your daughter are entirely irrelevant to the fact that you can shag like no other, Harry," she quipped.

He laughed heartily. "Well, we can put me to the test later after I clean up."

"Oh I don't know how necessary that is…"

"Putting me to the test?"

"No, getting cleaned up. After all, you're just going to get sweaty again. Might as well start out a bit sweaty. And didn't I just tell you that I like you that way?" she teased.

Harry began kissing her in earnest, backing her against the wall. Ruth tangled her fingers in his sweaty hair as they celebrated the good news together.


	23. Chapter 23

Ruth rested her head on the pillow beside Harry's and smiled softly. He was lying on his back, dozing off as he was wont to do after exerting that sort of stamina. She pushed his sweaty hair back and started tracing the lines on his face with her fingertips. Despite his slight snores, Harry gave a little smile upon feeling her touch. Her fingers moved down, tracing his plump lips and down to his soft neck and lower. She explored the ridges of his scars, tracing one after the other. Her mind began to turn.

"Where's this one from?" she asked quietly.

Harry blinked awake. "I was wondering when you'd start asking questions. You're usually much more curious."

"I've meant to ask about it all, but I seem to get distracted whenever you've got your shirt off."

He chuckled. "I don't know how true that is."

"It is!" she insisted. "Either I'm trying to take your clothes off so I can have my wicked way with you—in which case I'm not about to stop and ask questions about your scars—or else I'm too tired and shagged out to remember once we're done."

"And you're not too tired this time?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"I must be losing my touch," he pouted.

Ruth lightly kissed the shell of his ear. "It's been a long time since we've had a happy lie-in. We can shag more later."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Later," she repeated. "But for now, tell me about how you got these." She ran her fingers over a thick line of scars over his pectoral muscle.

"You really want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know."

Harry placed his big, weathered hand next to Ruth's small, soft one, both tracing over his scars. "These were a series of slashes during a bad fight with a particularly aggressive KGB agent I ran into in Paris."

"Paris? So did Juliet take care of you?" she asked, immediately regretting the question.

He scoffed, "She never really was the caring type. She made sure I got to the hospital and got patched up. That was the end of her concern."

Ruth frowned. "She didn't even change your bandages for you?"

"I could do it myself."

Something about that statement made Ruth quite sad. She'd never liked Juliet Shaw, of course. Not only was she never really very likable, but Ruth always harbored jealousy that Juliet had known Harry and been important to him in a way Ruth never thought she would. But now that she had him and Juliet was out of the picture, that petty jealousy had long faded. Even so, the idea that the woman Harry may have been in love with had left him to care for himself when he was injured made her want to go back in time and show him proper love and care.

"I think you're forgetting, Ruth, that I was married at the time. And my dalliances with Juliet and Elena and anyone else were never more than affairs. Never could be more than that. And I never tried to let them be more than that."

They were straying into territory Ruth didn't quite want to contemplate at the moment. She shifted and pressed kisses to the slashes on his chest, rewarded by Harry's happy hum. Her fingers moved on, finding a rather nasty set of circular scars dotting the side of his ribs. "How about these?" she asked.

"IRA," he replied darkly.

She swallowed hard, bracing herself for the details. "What did they do to you?"

"I was captured and the Irish made several strong attempts to have a conversation about my intentions."

"Strong attempts?"

"Bit of an antiquated method, burning hot pokers."

"Oh my poor love," she lamented. Ruth moved lower in the bed and kissed the marks from his burns, her tongue lightly flicking the scar tissue.

Harry shivered slightly under her touch. A small whimper of pleasure escaped her lips.

"What happened here?" she murmured, her fingers brushing over another scar on his belly.

"Stabbed."

"When?"

"I was assisting on Thatcher's protection detail."

"And Margaret Thatcher stabbed you?"

He laughed, his whole body shaking with his wheezy chuckle. "No, but I wouldn't have put it past her. I stopped an assassination attempt."

Ruth kept her feeling to herself that perhaps Harry avoiding the assassin and getting through unscathed at the expense of Thatcher's life would have been better in the long run. Instead, she busied her lips kissing the scar from his stab wound and moving on to the next one on his shoulder. "This one I know about."

"Yes," he replied simply, not wishing to delve into the memory of being shot by Tom Quinn.

"That was the day I realized I was in love with you," she told him.

"Was it?" he asked in slight surprise.

"Yes, I realized I wouldn't have cried so much or been so upset if just my boss got shot. But knowing the man I loved got shot, well…" She trailed off, reverently kissing the most recent of his bullet wounds.

Harry sighed. So much bloody time they wasted. To think that she'd loved him all the way back then, to think that he'd hesitated in pursuing her, allowed her to run away from him. But their regrets were in the past, and there was no use dwelling on that, not now that they'd made their perfect quiet life together. "I love you, Ruth," he told her, stroking her lovely dark hair.

Ruth smiled against his shoulder before travelling down to a deep gash in his side, running her fingers over the scar's ragged edges.

"Another gunshot. Bullet grazed me in Iraq," he explained before she even asked.

"This is more than a graze, Harry."

"Graze from a sniper rifle. Technically I suppose it was a through-and-through, it just took out a chuck of my flesh on its way."

Ruth let out a small sound of discontent as she moved her mouth over this scar as she had all the others.

"I don't think I've ever appreciated my injuries before," he noted.

"I just want to kiss them better," she murmured against his skin.

Harry closed his eyes to focus on her gentle touches, feeling her care and love with every caress.

"Do you miss it?" she asked, pausing for a moment and resting her cheek on his chest.

He looked down at her and immediately knew what she was talking about. Hadn't even been lost for a moment, which was more evidence than anything of his answer. "No."

"Not any of it?"

"The death and destruction, the grief and fear, the regret and guilt? The constant weighing of risks, putting people I care about in grave danger to protect the nation? The sleep deprivation and answering to sleazy politicians and ambitious bureaucrats?"

But Ruth countered, "But what about all the adrenaline and the heroism and the bone-deep satisfaction of solving the crisis and catching the villains and saving lives?"

Harry brushed her hair off her forehead. "You're focusing on the good days."

"And you're focusing on the bad."

"To my mind, there were always more bad days than good. And now I don't have to worry about that," he replied.

"We still have bad days, Harry," she pointed out.

Harry took her hand off his waist and kissed the tips of her fingers, just because he could, illustrating his exact point. "Our bad days don't end in death. And our good days are so much sweeter."

"So you don't miss being a spook at all?"

"Ruth, you know I loved my work. But a big part of the appeal for me was the lack of alternatives. Before I even met you, I'd been divorced over fifteen years and rightfully scorned by my children. The job was all I had, and I didn't bother looking for anything else. But you, my darling, made me believe that we could share a better life together."

"And we do," she interjected, more confidently than Harry might have expected.

"Yes, Ruth," he answered softly. "We do."

Ruth smiled up at him and resumed her loving touches all over his body. She pushed the bedsheets down as she kissed a line down his chest and belly before turning her attention to his growing arousal.

"I take it now is when I shag you senseless?"

All Ruth could do was hum in reply, since her mouth was full with his hardening cock.


	24. Chapter 24

"I'll get it!" Ruth called out, running down the stairs to answer the doorbell. Harry was watching a rugby game that, given the way he'd paid her absolutely no mind for almost an hour, he was enjoying. As Ruth hurried to the foyer, she heard a grunt of appreciation coming from her chap in the living room. She just smiled and called back to him, "Enjoy your match, Harry," as she opened the door. The laugh in her voice immediately caught her throat when she saw who was on the other side of that peeling green paint.

"Old man can't get up off the sofa, eh?"

Ruth nearly smacked that smirk off his face. "You can't be here!"

"Yes, lovely to see you too, Ruth," the visitor greeted with a very mischievous grin.

But Ruth was in no mood for teasing. "Did I or did I not tell you to let me know when you'd be coming to town?" she hissed, trying to keep their voices down.

"A surprise is just so much more fun though," he pointed out.

"Graham!" Ruth groaned in quiet exasperation.

Just then, a familiar footfall sounded behind her. "Bloody advert," Harry grumbled. "Who's at the door, darling?"

Ruth froze in a panic. This was it. This was what she'd dreaded. All her nervous procrastination had now culminated in her worst nightmare. Harry would be face to face with his son for the first time in years, and Ruth's duplicity would be shoved right in middle of it.

The three of them stood there in silence for a moment. Graham and Harry looking at each other over Ruth's shoulder. Ruth standing between them in shock.

"Your front door needs repainting," Graham stated by way of greeting.

"We like it that way," Harry replied. His tone was cold, chilling the blood in Ruth's veins. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Oh so you recognize me?"

"Of course I do." Harry sighed, "Ruth, darling, you're blocking the door." He reached out and put his hands on her hips, guiding her aside so Graham could come in. "Graham, this is my partner, Ruth," Harry introduced.

Graham nodded. "Yes, I know."

"Catherine's been speaking to you, has she?"

"Yes, but Ruth and I have met before. A few times."

A dark cloud settled over Harry's face instantaneously. "You have?"

"Yeah, in London," Graham explained.

"In London," Harry repeated flatly.

The silence amongst them returned. Ruth regained enough motor function to glance between father and son. Graham was watching Harry with a small smile on his face, like a bold challenge. Harry was staring back, the wheels turning in his head, the rage and betrayal practically vibrating off him. Then, without a word, Harry turned and stormed away. Ruth heard the back door open and slammed closed, causing her to wince.

"I think that went better than expected," Graham said after a moment.

Ruth exhaled slowly, closing her eyes momentarily so she could think. "Right. Well, come in, I suppose." She led Graham through the front hall to the kitchen, wringing her hands with worry. She wasn't quite sure what to do now. She looked out the big bay window to the garden. Harry wasn't in sight. But before Ruth could wonder where he was, she heard the engine of a car start up and then fade away. "He's gone," she realized aloud, her voice no more than a harsh whisper.

Graham put a soft hand on her shoulder. "Sweet tea," he announced. "That's the thing. Have you got any in?"

"Sweet tea," Ruth murmured numbly. "How very English." She turned and began to gather the tea things. "You're so like him," she said, the memories swirling in her mind.

"You've said that before and I still don't know if it's really a compliment."

Ruth gave a small smile. "Well I love him very much, and I happen to know he's a very good man. Flawed, certainly. I know that better than most. But when I tell you you're like him, it's because you are. He made sweet tea for me once on one of the worst days of my life."

"Oh?" Graham's curiosity was piqued.

"I'd witnessed a suicide," she explained. "Man jumped in front of a train. And then I was framed for his murder and had to fake my death and run away."

"Jesus, Ruth!"

"That was a long time ago," she replied curtly, not wishing to delve into it. "Harry wanted to take the blame. Nearly went to prison to exonerate me."

"Seems rather impulsive of him."

"It was bloody stupid. But he often loses his head when people he loves are involved."

"So no stupid actions where I'm concerned," Graham said darkly.

Ruth regarded the young man carefully for a moment. And right then, Ruth saw very clearly what she'd always suspected but hadn't yet fully witnessed in the time she'd known Graham. He was, in so many ways, still just a boy who loved his dad and wanted his dad to love him back. And whatever Harry's reasons for not letting Graham know that he was loved were probably noble and ill-conceived, knowing Harry. AndRuth didn't have much to offer him. Not just yet. "He does love you, Graham. I know he does. But he's been through so much."

"And what do you think I've been through?!" Graham asked angrily.

"Please don't shout at me," Ruth said calmly.

Graham settled down, grumbling an apology. They drank their tea quietly at the kitchen table. Eventually Graham asked, "Where do you think he's gone?"

"I don't know."

"You think he'll come back?"

"I hope so." But in the pit of her stomach, Ruth felt the irrational anxiety that this was too big a betrayal for Harry to handle, that he'd taken a room somewhere and would come back when he knew she was out and take all his things and never speak to her again. "I never found the way to tell him, you see."

"Tell him about me?"

"Yes. I should have. I know I should have. I just wanted to see if I could find a way to fix it. Our life here is so good and so full, but not having any relationship with you hurts him, and I just wanted to help. And then I suppose I got in a bit over my head." Ruth stared at her teacup, tracing the handle with her fingers absently. It had been how many years since she and Harry had sat in her old kitchen having sweet tea and she was still making the same mistakes all these years later, sitting in her new kitchen having sweet tea with his son.

"This isn't for you to fix, Ruth," Graham said kindly. "My dad and me…there's just too much built up between us. I thought I wanted to get a bit of revenge on him. That's why I came unannounced. I wanted him to open the door and see me and feel absolutely rotten."

"Well he did, but I think I probably had more to do with that, once you revealed that we've been speaking for months."

Graham scoffed, "He didn't even give you a chance to explain, just buggered off somewhere. It's what he's always done, Ruth. You should know him well enough to see that's his way, to bury himself in work or whatever else when his personal life gets a bit difficult. He left my mother and me and Cat because he would rather play hero and shag other women and drink himself sick than actually sit at home with a boring family."

Ruth felt herself nearly start to cry. But she swallowed the lump in her throat. "There's a lot more to it than that. But Harry should be the one to explain."

"Yeah, well, he's not here now."

"No," Ruth agreed, feeling her eyes well up. "No, he's not."


	25. Chapter 25

It was well past dark when Harry finally went home. He took the car because he didn't fancy the idea of destroying things in the house or the garden he'd worked so hard on. And he certainly knew better than to explode in anger. Ruth deserved better from him.

As he drove all around Suffolk, by the sea and through the woods, Harry tried to get a grip on his emotions. His son, Graham, was here at his house. He hadn't seen the boy in…ten years, perhaps? Close to that. He looked good, after all this time. If Harry had closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his son would look like as a grown man, he might have pictured something close to what he'd seen there.

But Graham was not the issue here. The issue was Ruth. Ruth, who he loved more than life itself. Ruth, with whom he had created a brand new life in which to share with her. Ruth, with whom he'd had no secrets for the last year and a half they'd been together. Or so he thought. And that was what stung the most. Harry had thought—hoped—that the life of hiding in shadows was over. And really, if either of them were more likely to hide things from the other, it was certainly Harry from Ruth. Perhaps that's why it hurt him so viscerally, the thought that he had put his whole faith in Ruth and she had hid things and lied to him. And this wasn't just a white lie or a surprise, promising him he wasn't putting on weight or telling him not to cook dinner because she wasn't hungry and then coming home with something gourmet she'd ordered. This was _his son_. And she'd gone behind his back and somehow contacted Graham and spoken to him and seen him. All without telling Harry.

It was well past time to go back. He'd punished Ruth enough with his abrupt absence. Which, truth be told, was as much his goal as was escaping to cool off.

Ruth and Graham were talking quietly in the kitchen when the front door opened and closed. Immediately, Ruth was on her feet, hurrying to greet him. "Harry, I—" she began.

"Not now," Harry interrupted gruffly. He brushed past her and into the kitchen to where his son stood beside a cup of cold tea. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Graham stood there calmly, staring at his father curiously, that same challenging little smirk on his face. "I wanted to say hi. See how you are. Pop in on Ruth. You know, she really is too good for you."

Harry just hummed noncommittally.

Ruth took the moment to interject, "Graham, I warned you about this. You stop this right now."

"Is that why he won't marry you? Because he knows you're too good for him?"

The cruelty of Graham's teasing was more than Harry could take. "Don't you speak to her like that."

"Ruth's my friend, Dad. She knows I don't mean any harm," he laughed. "At least not to her. She's not the one who turned her back on me and left me for dead."

"Graham…" Ruth warned.

But Graham would not be deterred. He was clearly on a roll with his pointed accusations, getting into a nice rhythm. "No, Ruth, I think we've had enough of you trying to keep me away from him. I came here to have it out with my old dad. I think it's about time he see that I made something of myself in spite of him."

"You'd be dead on the street or rotting in prison if it wasn't for me, boy," Harry snarled.

"Oh sure, thanks for the bail money. Too bad it up and vanished one day. Just like you." Graham's voice had lost its teasing edge now. His words were being spat from his mouth with the fully visible rage and hurt of his heart.

"You don't know what you're talking about. And when you're under my roof, you'll speak with some goddamn respect!" Harry shouted.

Graham exhaled slowly, preventing himself from rising to the level of his father's ire. "Your roof? I thought it was her roof."

"That is enough!" Ruth shouted. She was never one to shout, not finding it ever to be too effective and knowing that she herself did not possess the gravitas to carry it off without looking just a little bit foolish. "Graham, this is our house, and I do want you to be our guest here, but I cannot allow you to speak to Harry like this. He does not deserve your petty insults and the vitriol of your childish hurt feelings!"

There was a tension-filled pause and Graham visibly deflated at Ruth's scolding. But instead of being contrite, he turned his aim on Ruth. "Christ, you're really pathetic, you know that? You're a spook just like he is. All full of secrets and blind faith in the worst possible things. How can you stand there and defend him after you know what he's done? After what he did to me and my family? But I guess you're just a sad, middle-aged, desperate frump who gave up on any sort of proper life and settled for a fat, old, cheating liar."

Ruth was stunned into silence. Her stormy blue eyes were wide and a bit watery as she put a slightly shaking hand up to her mouth.

Harry, on the other hand, had no trouble finding his voice. "GET OUT!" he bellowed. "You say whatever you want about me, I know you're going to blame me for your troubles no matter what I do, and if you need a scapegoat for your own weakness, go right ahead. But don't you _dare_ speak to Ruth like that. She is a stronger than any of the rest of us, and she has a mind that could run circles around anyone in the world. There is absolutely nothing she cannot do, and yet she possesses the kindest heart with more love than I certainly deserve. And she's deigned to offer you a bit of friendliness and understanding, and this is how you treat her? You get out of this house and don't you think of speaking to either one of us until you can come up with a proper apology."

And without another word, Graham turned and walked out of the kitchen. He slammed the front door so hard, Ruth gave a slight gasp, momentarily worrying that the house might fall down.

When the walls stopped reverberating, Harry slumped down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table and put his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Ruth," he groaned.

Her attention snapped to him. "Why are you sorry? This was all my fault."

Harry looked up at her and shook her head. "No, I think it's very clear to see that Graham's failings are all thanks to me," he said darkly.

Ruth chose wisely to avoid that loaded statement for the moment. "Well, even if you don't think this is my fault, I do have some explaining to do." She sat down in the chair across from Harry, just as though they were going to sit down to a meal like any other day. She pushed aside the mugs she and Graham had used for their tea.

"How did you get in contact with him? Did he reach out to you? Or was it Catherine?"

"No," Ruth replied, shaking her head. "Malcolm."

"Malcolm put you up to this?" he asked in surprise.

"I got Malcolm to find him for me. Catherine actually forbid me from asking her about him, which, in retrospect, is proof that you've got a very wise daughter."

"She has her moments, yes." Harry returned to the issue at hand. "So when did it start?"

"Just after Christmas. That's when I got the idea, actually. Having Catherine and Malcolm and Wes all together, a big family…except Graham. I asked Malcolm to find his information soon after. I sent him the first email introducing myself while you were in surgery, actually. I just thought that maybe if I found him for you…"

"He didn't need finding. He's been at a rehabilitation facility. He works there."

Ruth was rather surprised. "How did you know? He said he hasn't heard from you in years."

"I used to bail him out whenever he got arrested," Harry explained. "But then he stopped getting arrested and I panicked, worrying if he was dead and Jane or Catherine hadn't bothered to tell me. And you'd just come back home and then we lost Jo and everything was in chaos. I had Tariq look for him for me."

"So you knew all along?"

"Of course," he said incredulously. "You think I just stopped caring what happened to him? Ruth, he's my son!"

She frowned, not appreciating that insinuation. "I know he's your son. More so than I ever imagined. But why didn't you tell me if you already knew?"

"I didn't want to interfere. He'd found a life for himself. He didn't need me interrupting it," he answered with a slight shrug.

Ruth sighed sadly. "Once again, Evershed sticks her nose where it doesn't belong."

But Harry just smiled softly. He reached his hand out, silently asking for hers. She tentatively let him take it. Harry held her hand and caressed her knuckles with his thumb. "Ruth, why did you want to find Graham?"

"Because I wanted to meet him and I wanted to see if I could help find a way to bring you two back together."

"And why did you want to bring the two of us back together?"

"Because he's your son and you're his father, and you both deserve to have each other in your lives."

"And why do you think that?"

Ruth was getting a bit tired of this exercise, but she could see what he was getting at. "Because I want you to have everything in your life. And I want you to have everything in your life because I love you so very much."

Harry leaned forward to kiss her hand. "I know you do, darling. And I'm sorry I lost sight of that for a moment when I ran out of here before. I know you've only got the best intentions."

"I meant to tell you. I just didn't know how. When you were recovering from your surgery and you were just so sad, I didn't want anything else to upset you. And then the longer I waited, the worse it was," she lamented.

"I understand, Ruth," he said quietly.

They both sat silently for a moment. Harry still held Ruth's hand. She watched the way his thick fingers holding her small ones. They looked all at once horribly mismatched and yet a perfect fit. A bit like Harry and herself, Ruth pondered. There was every reason in the world that she and Harry shouldn't be together, shouldn't be a match for each other. And yet this life they shared was so very close to perfect, it was hard to imagine now that there had ever been a time when she doubted they should be together. "Harry, was Graham right about that?" she asked suddenly.

He stiffened. "Right about what? He accused us both of quite a lot of things."

"He asked me if you wouldn't marry me because you know I'm too good for you. Is he right? Is that what you think?"

"Well I know you're too good for me," Harry joked.

"But is that why we aren't married?"

Harry wasn't quite sure what she was getting at. He hadn't thought she wanted to marry him. And now that they lived together and shared all that they had, he didn't quite think marriage was entirely necessary anymore. He believed—no, he knew—that Ruth would remain committed to their relationship even without a legally binding license and a pair of rings. He answered delicately, "It's not the only reason."

Ruth furrowed her brow. "But it's part of the reason?"

"I suppose so."

"What's the rest of the reason?" she pressed.

Harry gave a heavy sigh and let go of her hand to rub his own tired face. "Honestly, Ruth, the first time I proposed to you didn't go very well, and I frankly don't wish to repeat the mistake."

"Things are different now."

"Yes," he granted.

"I don't want you to do it now, but…some other time…if you ask me again, I think my answer might be different."

"You think?"

"Well, we won't really know my answer till I'm asked the question," she reasoned, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Harry paused a moment and then leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "Darling, can I ask you a favor, please?"

"Of course, my love."

"Would you come have a cuddle with me while I watch the highlights of the rugby match on the telly? I just want to put this horrid afternoon behind us and find some semblance of something nice."

Ruth nearly protested, knowing there was so much left for them to talk about, so much left to unpick about Graham and about their relationship. But there was something about the earnestness of his dear face that made Ruth's stomach flip. "I think that sounds like a really good idea."

Harry got up to get settled in his chair and find the proper television station. Ruth cleaned up the tea things and joined him a minute later. She curled up on his lap with her face buried in the soft skin of his neck and her fingers stroking the curling hairs on the back of his head. Harry held her with one hand holding her bum and the other caressing her thigh. Noodles came to perch himself on the arm of the chair. And their little family sat snuggled together while the commentators discussed the rugby.


	26. Chapter 26

"Harry, are you ready?" Ruth's voice called from the hallway.

"Yes," he called back.

"You're doing what I asked?"

He sighed, "Yes, Ruth, I'm doing what you asked. I am sitting on the edge of the bed with bare feet, just like you told me to. Now would you please tell me what's going on and why you ran away from me twenty minutes ago, shouting instructions behind you?"

"I have a surprise for you. And I…" She trailed off and Harry could hear her huff the way she did whenever she was a bit stressed. "Just please promise me you won't laugh, alright? I know it's silly, but I just…"

"Darling, I have no idea what you're talking about, and I don't like yelling at you like this, now would you please just come in here and tell me what's going on?"

Ruth was standing right around the corner from their bedroom, out of sight. She fluffed up her hair a bit and did her best to stand tall and suck in her stomach and steel herself for possible humiliation. She clenched her fists so as to keep from wringing her hands as she walked into the bedroom and stood in front of where Harry sat so he could look at her. "Happy birthday, Harry," she said softly, willing her voice not to shake.

Harry didn't know what she had in store for the day, only that she had birthday surprises for him. And this was certainly a surprise. His Ruth, who was more often than not found wearing soft, shapeless fabrics, was standing in front of him wearing the most exquisite lingerie he had ever seen. She had a matching set of bra and knickers in sapphire blue flowery lace over beige silk. They fit her perfectly, as though painted onto her pale skin. He wasn't sure he had ever seen her body on display quite like this. In fact, he knew he hadn't. And she looked so incredibly beautiful. "Ruth," he croaked.

A small smile flickered on her lips as she stood there and let him stare at her. His honey-hazel eyes were dark and blown wide with unabashed lust. His hands were resting on his knees and clutching rather tightly. And she could already see the beginnings of strain against his trousers as he started to get hard just looking at her. "Do you like it?" she asked, already having discerned the answer.

"My god, Ruth, you're exquisite," he breathed. "You know you didn't have to do this for me, I don't need anything fancy for you to entice me but Christ, you look beautiful."

Ruth's heart was still thundering in her chest, though now from a bit of excitement and pride, rather than nervousness. She really was pleased he liked how she looked. Her body had never really been anything special, as far as she was concerned. Bit of dimpling on her thighs and bum, a slim waist but rounded stomach, breasts whose size was nothing remarkable in either direction. She always felt a bit small when she wasn't wearing proper clothes. Not petite or delicate or thin, just small. Harry had always made her feel beautiful and desired, but she really didn't spend much time naked unless they were actively having sex. And it was Harry who was more apt to wander about barely clothed than she was. She was usually too cold for it.

But this was entirely different. This was putting herself on full display for him, for the express purpose of creating desire. Or at least, that was what she assumed lingerie was for. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, but until this, Ruth had only ever owned one bra with lace before, and never any color more adventurous than plain navy blue. Actually, that wasn't true. When she was in her twenties, she'd had a pair of white knickers with little pink hearts on them. Even when she'd worn colorful clothes on the outside, her undergarments had always been pathetic and boring. But this was something that was supposed to be a turn-on for men, right? So since it was Harry's birthday, she thought she'd give it a go.

"I thought it might be a nice surprise for your birthday. I've…I've never worn anything like this before," she confessed, feeling herself blush.

Harry just couldn't get over it. She was trying so hard, pushing herself out of her comfort zone, and all for him. His heart swelled with love as much as his cock swelled with arousal. "I love it. Quite a surprise, and a magnificent birthday present. May I…?" He reached out, wanting—needing—to touch her.

Ruth took a few steps forward so she was standing just in front of his parted legs. Harry's big, rough hands moved from his knees to slide up the silky softness of her thighs and over the lace knickers covering her hips, over the curve of her waist, and stopping at the lace of her bra. She let out a shuddering breath at his touch.

"So beautiful," he murmured, gently squeezing her breasts through the bra before letting go and grabbing great handfuls of her bum. The texture under his hands was rather intoxicating, being so unfamiliar on his Ruth. He pulled her closer to him and pressed kisses to her bare stomach, first on the two freckles that dotted her belly, then to her scar, and finally to her navel, letting his tongue dip inside it, eliciting a whimpering moan from her.

She ran her fingers through his soft curling hair, adoring the attention he paid her, indulging herself for a moment. It seemed impossible, really, that after nearly two years together, she had not tired of his affections. Not one bit. Perhaps it was a symptom of the deep love they shared, or perhaps it was the devotion and creativity Harry always put into their love life, or perhaps it was just that Ruth herself had never been with anyone who thrilled her the way he did. Whatever it was, she loved it, and loved him all the more for it.

But that was quite enough of that. After all, it was Harry's birthday, and she intended to lavish him with love today. She pulled his face away from her, letting him tilt his head up to look at her. She smiled to see the love shining in his eyes. Ruth then reached down to tug on the bottom of his jumper. Harry unhanded her for a moment so she could pull it off him. She tossed the garment aside and ran her hands down his chest, getting down on her knees when her fingers reached his trousers. He watched with a smile as she undressed him.

"This is why I wanted you barefoot," she explained. "Removing shoes and socks takes too much time."

Ruth was rather certain Harry would have some teasing statement about that, but she didn't let him get a word in edgewise when she took his erection in hand and stroked him firmly. All he could do was groan deeply. She nearly laughed, delighted by his reaction to her as always.

"Happy birthday, my love," she said before her mouth was full with him.

Harry could not believe his luck. Ruth certainly wasn't shy about giving him blowjobs, but it always felt special, somehow. Having her kneeling down in naughty lingerie and sucking him off was certainly the most extravagant birthday present he'd ever received. "Oh Jesus, I love you," he said. He tangled one hand in her hair and guided her hot, wet mouth. It didn't take him long to get close, uncontrollably thrusting up at her, so he pulled her off him. "Too much," he panted when she looked up at him questioningly. "I want to enjoy you a bit longer."

He sat back on the bed, beckoning Ruth to join him. She made her way leisurely up his legs. She massaged his feet for a moment before sliding her hands up his calves, kissing the surgery scar on his knee, and making her way over his muscled thighs. "I cannot believe I'm so lucky," she murmured, now kissing his belly and the hard plane of his chest.

"I don't think you're the lucky one in this scenario."

She just shrugged. Now was not the time for Ruth to explain herself, to put into words how much she adored this man for all his softness and hardness, for all his sweet and tender care, for all his terrible and horrific past, for all his good humor and dark anger, for all the immense love she brought to his life. Instead of explaining, she just climbed on top of him and kissed him with everything she had. His cock was damp from her mouth and pressed into her thigh, and his thick hands were practically glued to her lace-covered bum as he rubbed her against him.

Harry rolled them over so he could explore her. Her nipples were hard, straining against the lace bra. He couldn't resist nipping at them through the thin fabric. She gasped and arched against him. One hand wandered down between her legs and traced her through her knickers, feeling the way she was already soaking them through. How lucky was she? No, how terribly lucky was _he_?

When he couldn't wait a second longer, Harry pulled himself away from her and sat back on his heels. Ruth pushed herself up on her elbows and grinned. She was waiting for Harry to undress her completely, but he had other intentions. He was going to enjoy this lacy gift for all it was worth. So instead of taking her knickers off, he merely pulled the fabric aside, just enough to reveal her dripping entrance to him and allow him to push inside her. The lace grazed the side of his cock as he slowly entered her, a sensation he was wholly unprepared for. His hips snapped, making him thrust hard and fast and deep without much warning. Ruth keened high and loud as he suddenly filled her completely.

He waited for just a moment, savoring the delicious feel of her. But he had to move. He had to kiss her and taste her tongue and take her hard.

Ruth felt herself falling over the edge quite quickly. The way he was stroking deep inside her, the way the fabric of her knickers rubbed against her as he moved, the way she could feel him radiate with love. It was absolutely indescribably incredible. "Oh god, yes Harry!" she moaned as she tumbled into ecstasy. She clung to him desperately as she came, digging her fingernails into his back.

Feeling the clench of her walls around him was more than he could take, and Harry spilled himself inside her. He rolled them to the side so he could gather her in his arms and hold her tight as they caught their breath.

They dozed off almost immediately, Ruth still pulsating with aftershocks and Harry utterly spent from the way she had built him up. She had one leg wrapped around him. He held her flush against his chest and remained nestled inside her even as he went soft.

Eventually, however, they had to get up. Harry's arm was falling asleep, and Ruth was getting a bit uncomfortable. They separated with quiet whimpers from each of them. "Fancy a shower together?" he offered, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

"Anything you want, Harry. It's your birthday. But I do have to make arrangements for your present as soon as we're up and dressed."

"I thought this was my present."

"This doesn't count. I wanted to surprise you, but honestly the sex is as much a gift for me as it is for you. And some present I make, you didn't even unwrap me," she pointed out.

Harry gave a wheezy little laugh. "I wanted to enjoy the wrapping. And I very much did."

"Good. That's why I did it. And since you did enjoy it, maybe I can find some other things in the future, if you want."

"Honestly, Ruth, I think I might have a stroke. My heart nearly stopped when you walked into the room wearing that."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I have never seen anything so sexy in all my life."

Ruth wasn't quite sure how true that was, but she accepted the compliment.

They went about their day, showering together and running out of hot water thanks to the amount of time they spent snogging instead of washing off. Ruth made lunch with some of Harry's favorites. And despite it being his birthday, he insisted on helping with the washing up.

"Right, are you ready for your present now?" she asked him, once she'd finished wiping up the kitchen counter.

"Ruth, you're doing too much. It's not even a big birthday," he protested. He didn't like thinking about it, but he would be sixty on his next birthday. "Well, perhaps it is, since fifty-nine is the last year before I'm officially old and pathetic."

"Harry, I won't have you saying such things about yourself. As long as you keep fit, there's no reason for you to ever feel old or pathetic."

"I won't be able to shag you like that forever, Ruth," he pointed out.

"We'll manage. We're quite creative, I think, and there's pills for everything nowadays. But I do hope that your birthday gift will help you exercise a bit more."

Now he was well and properly intrigued. "What did you get for me?"

She grinned. "Go wait in the living room. I have to call for it to be delivered. It unfortunately wasn't something I could hide around the house."

Harry went to sit on the sofa and wait while Ruth made a call. He had no idea what she had gotten for him, but surely whatever it was would be too much. Neither of them voiced it, but Harry knew she was still feeling guilty over the fiasco that was Graham's unpleasant visit. She was still trying to make it up to him.

Not five minutes later, the doorbell rang. Ruth hurried to answer it. Harry could hear the voice of their neighbor, Geoff. He gave a yell, wishing Harry a happy birthday. Harry thanked him, but stayed where he was. The door was shut and locked and Ruth made her way back to the living room.

"Alright, Harry, I wanted to get you something you could really love." She stood before him and in her arms was a fat little bundle with a wagging tail. "This is Edith. She's a beagle, and she's five weeks old, and she's all yours. I know you haven't had a dog since Scarlett, and I know having Noodles isn't nearly the same. So here we are." Ruth dropped the puppy into Harry's lap.

"You got us a dog?!" he asked in genuine surprise.

"Yes, I did," she replied proudly.

Harry was at a total loss for words. Little Edith was the most adorable pup, white and brown with floppy ears. She was wiggling and panting and wagging her tail like mad, scrabbling to get close to his face. Harry laughed and let her lick him all over. She had puppy breath and seemed overwhelmed by the exciting event of giving him kisses. And Harry fell madly in love with her.

Ruth watched as he snuggled the dog. She really was a sweet little thing. When she'd heard that one of her colleagues at the university had bred his dog, Ruth immediately knew she wanted to get one of the puppies for Harry. He was always a dog person, and taking care of a puppy would certainly help fill his days, particularly with the winter coming up and not being able to work out in the garden. And now that his knee was all healed, he could take Edith on long walks and not worry.

"Hello, Edith. I'm Harry. I'm so glad you're here, little one," he cooed to the dog.

"I only ask that you keep her out of our bed and out of the office. Dogs have a tendency to chew things like paper and electrical cords," Ruth warned.

Harry picked up the dog and held her so they were at eye level. "I think we can live with that, Edith, what do you think?"

Edith gave a charming little bark in response.

Ruth laughed. "Do you love her?"

Harry looked up at her and grinned like mad. "I do. And I love you. Thank you so much, darling."

He went back to getting acquainted with the puppy. Ruth went to get the camera.


	27. Chapter 27

Ruth looked over to see Harry continually glancing in the rearview mirror at the backseat. She sighed, "Eyes on the road, Harry. She's fine."

"We should pull over and let her out of the carrier," he suggested.

"You know she'll just be crawling all over you, and then you'll really be distracted. When you stop for petrol, I'll take her out on the lead and then hold her on my lap till we get there, alright?"

Harry knew she was right, but that didn't mean he liked it. "Yes, alright."

"I still can't believe you insisted we bring her. Geoff and Tim would have been happy to watch her. They take care of Noodles whenever we're away already."

"Noodles is a stray cat. Edith is just a baby," he protested.

"She's a puppy, Harry, not your grandchild. And I'd better have a talk with Catherine to prepare her for your overprotectiveness when she does give birth."

Harry grinned, not caring a single bit that Ruth was teasing him. He was going to be a grandfather in just a few short months. Catherine was about seven months gone, now. And upon moving back to England, she had started furiously preparing for motherhood. She and Fabian bought a sweet little house in Gerrands Cross. It was only a two-hour drive from Suffolk, close to Ruth and Harry but not so close as for anyone to feel smothered. Besides, it was right near the National Film and Television School, where Catherine had gotten a position teaching during the next school year, after she gave birth. And it was a very easy commute to Pinewood Studios, where Fabian had gotten a job in production.

All four of them had gotten together just before the Graham debacle, and now that Catherine and Harry had mended their relationship, Catherine had gotten a bit fixated on how little she knew of her father. Thus their somewhat impromptu trip to Yorkshire. Catherine didn't even know her father was from Yorkshire. He'd never spoken of his childhood to her, nor to Ruth. It seemed a wonderful opportunity to revisit his hometown and share tales of his youth with his family. He smiled as he drove, just thinking about it.

"Are you excited to be going home?" Ruth asked, seeing that look on his face.

"Not exactly," he replied. "It doesn't much feel like going home. But I will admit I'm looking forward to seeing the places I used to go, the old house and such. And I'll admit I'm a bit excited to show it all to you."

Ruth grinned, equally looking forward to that insight into Harry's past. "When's the last time you were there?"

"October 2001."

"That's rather specific.

He nodded. "That was when my father died. I was supposed to take care of things, but it was so soon after 9/11 and the Section was in a panic, obviously. I came up for a day for the memorial and to collect personal things and make sure his ashes were buried. I hired a solicitor to handle the rest."

"That was before we'd met," she noted.

"Yes."

"We're both orphans now."

"I suppose we are." He reached over the center console in the car and held her hand.

Ruth went quiet and merely enjoyed the feel of his big hand holding hers. This was one of her favorite things about life with Harry. These beautiful quiet moments. Where they could just be together without a word. The understanding and love and support they shared, that was never in doubt. And this weekend up north, this would be an eye-opening experience. Harry rarely shared much about his past, even less about his childhood. She knew better than to pry, and both of their pasts and personalities meant they did not volunteer much, even to each other. Ruth was glad of Catherine's insistence of learning about her father so that she could have a good relationship with him to share with her own child. The opportunity for them all to become a closer family pleased her to no end.

It was early evening by the time they reached Pontefract. Fabian and Catherine had already gotten their room at the inn. Ruth checked them in while Harry fussed with Edith and carried the bags inside.

"Dad, you brought the dog?" Catherine asked incredulously, greeting her father by the stairs.

"She's too little to leave on her own." At that precise moment, the puppy had gotten distracted by the fringe on a rug and was rolling around, getting tangled in her lead.

"Oh so you're going to be like that, are you?" his daughter replied astutely.

Ruth came to say hello and laughed, "Oh good, I'm glad I don't have to warn you. You've already figured it out."

"If you're all going to give me hard time, perhaps I'll just leave you to wander West Yorkshire on your own," Harry pouted.

Fabian, however, came to the rescue. "I'm on your side, Harry. You can't just abandon a brand new puppy three weeks after you bring her home," he reasoned with that lovely French lilt of his. He even kneeled down on the floor to help untangle little Edith and scratch her ears while she licked his arm. "Oh, see? Jolie petite!" he cooed.

"Christ, they're all like that," Catherine groaned.

Ruth led her up to the rooms so they could chat and leave the men to figure out the rest. "I can't tell you how glad I am that we're doing this. I think I only know Harry's past a fraction better than you do, so this should be quite fun."

"Really? I find that hard to believe."

"Oh he's told me a bit here and there. But there really isn't very much that they put in a personnel file."

Catherine never quite appreciated the past that her father and Ruth shared, the life they'd had before retirement, the work they did. But that life had brought them together, and Catherine would always be indebted to Ruth for turning Harry into a better man and a loving father. And having Harry and Ruth be together meant that Catherine had found a dear friend in Ruth. "I think this is going to be a lot of fun. Even if Yorkshire is a bit miserable this time of year."

"Well, if you're ever not feeling up to anything, we'll manage. We're only up here for a few days. How are you doing, by the way? Or is it annoying to be constantly asked?" Ruth asked in concern. She hadn't spent much time around pregnant people, so she was never quite sure how to act.

Abruptly, Catherine stopped walking and smiled. She grabbed Ruth's hand and pressed it to her belly.

Ruth felt a feather tickle against her palm and gasped. "Is that the baby!?"

"It is! That's your grandchild in there, saying hello. Or…wait, is that weird? I guess it's not really your grandchild, but I sort of think of you and Dad as…"

Tears pricked Ruth's eyes, but she blinked them away. "We can figure out the details later. But I would be absolutely honored to be a part of your child's life in however way you'd like."

Catherine nodded. "Good."

They continued on to their rooms and got themselves settled. Fabian and Harry came up a few minutes later to discuss the plan for the weekend. Harry had it all worked out, but he wanted to be sure everyone else agreed. There would be nothing more miserable, he decided, than taking his family all over his hometown and boring them with his pointless nostalgic ramblings.

But he needn't have worried. They were all enthusiastic about his itinerary. He would drive them around in the Range Rover, showing off his old school and the house where he'd grown up. They'd see the sights of his childhood, and he would tell them stories about his family.

Over dinner in the inn's restaurant that night, he gave them a bit of backstory about the town, how his father had lived there and taken the train into Leeds for work, that his mother had been a teacher at the local primary school, though thankfully not his own teacher. Ruth noticed that he got a rather interesting sparkle in his eye as he spoke, like he was finally getting to open up about his happy memories to people who wanted to share them, like it was a great gift for him to be able to do so.

They all went on a short walk in the town centre, bringing Edith along. Ruth really did love the little dog, but hopefully this would be the only trip Harry would insist on bringing her on. It was somewhat limiting, not to be able to all go wander around shops because they had a puppy with them. But Harry was just so pleased with having his family and his dog and Ruth surrounding him here in this place of his youth, nothing much could bother her.

Their first morning, Harry offered them an itinerary over breakfast. "I know it isn't much fun, but I'd like to go to the churchyard, if you all don't mind. We don't need to stay long." He fidgeted slightly, feeling uncomfortable about the request. But he knew he couldn't come all the way up here without going to visit. Wouldn't feel right.

Catherine and Fabian were happy to follow along wherever. Ruth could see that this was something that meant a great deal to her Harry, and though she had some idea, she wasn't certain of the full extent, and she was curious to learn more.

And so their first stop was the cemetery in the old churchyard. Harry, with Edith on the lead, trudged purposefully across the grass to the plots he had rarely visited but could never forget. There were two headstones next to each other, one double and one single. First Fiona Pearce and her birth and death dates. Below her name was James Pearce with his dates. And beside them was Benjamin Pearce.

"1974?" Catherine read loud in question, looking at her grandmother's grave.

Harry nodded. "I was at Oxford when she died. She'd been sick for a while, but she never really talked about it. Whenever I'd ask how she was, she would change the subject and ask me how I was doing, if I was studying and getting along with others."

"I had no idea you were so young," Catherine said quietly. "What was she like?"

With a small smile, Harry said, "She was immensely kind. Had a very strong sense of doing what was right, whether it was giving money and volunteering with a charity she supported or bringing food to the old man across the road when he broke his leg. I think you inherited that from her, Catherine. You remind me of her in a lot of ways. She looked like you, too. Thin and blonde and smiling and lovely. Though I know you look very much like your mother. You've got the same smile as my mother."

Catherine rested her hands on her belly and smiled. "And your dad?"

Harry grunted. "He was a banker. Very stern man. My mum was too good for him. But they loved each other very much. And I don't think he was ever the same after she died. He kept to himself, mostly. We weren't close."

"I was in Israel in 2001."

"Yes. I didn't want to bother anyone about it. You and Graham didn't really know him anyway. The funeral was small. Just me and a few of his local friends and neighbors."

They were all quiet for a moment, contemplating the mystery of it all. Ruth had been no stranger to death, of course. Her father died when she was eleven. The next death had been Peter. And then Danny. Fiona. Colin. During her exile, they lost Zaf and Adam. Other members of the team Ruth had never known. Her horrific return brought death to George and then Jo and Ros soon after that. Her mother died after Albany and Lucas North. Then poor Tariq. And in the end, it was Ruth herself who had barely escaped the ever-present spectre of death. That had spelled the end of that life for her and for Harry. But death had followed their steps anyway.

"Was Benjamin Pearce your brother?" Fabian asked, breaking the still silence.

"Yes. After our mother died, I got much more serious about my studies and I decided to join the army. Ben did the same. He wasn't lucky enough to get out alive," Harry replied shortly. He didn't talk about his brother, if he could help it. To lose that wonderful boy so young, so soon after their mother had gone, had wounded Harry irreparably.

"The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living," Ruth said quietly.

"Cicero," Harry said with a nod, recognizing the quote. "Though I imagine that's a loose translation."

"Would you prefer the original Latin?" she asked, her lips ticking upward at the corners.

Harry just smirked. "No need to show off, Ruth."

She wrapped her hands around his arm and rested her head against his shoulder, careful not to get tangled up with the dog. He turned to lightly kiss her hair.

"Alright. Enough sadness," Harry announced. He turned to lead them back to the car. "I thought I might show you the castle next."

A short drive away was Pontefract Castle. Ruth began to spout all sorts of historical facts, about Cromwell and Old English history.

Harry let her prattle on for a little while, never tiring of her endless font of knowledge. But he couldn't resist interjecting to say, "That's all quite accurate, Ruth, but actually I decided to bring you all here to tell you about the times my mates and I would sneak in after dark and get pissed on cheap spirits and smoke hand-rolled cigarettes. I myself vomited on the castle walls more than once."

Catherine exploded in laughter, the very idea that her gruff, grumpy father had once been a misbehaving kid seeming so utterly insane. Fabian chuckled a bit as well, but Ruth was utterly flabbergasted. "Harry, that's a historic landmark! That's practically blasphemous!"

"Yes it is, but we didn't really care when we were fifteen," he defended.

"Dad, I might have taken after my grandmother, but I hope that sort of thing doesn't skip a generation down to my child," Catherine teased.

"I turned out just fine."

"Barely," she scoffed. "And I think Ruth's to thank for fixing you."

"Very true," he agreed.

But Ruth defended, "Harry's just perfect all on his own. I'm just the lucky beneficiary." She kissed his cheek to prove her point.

"You two are disgustingly sweet," Catherine noted.

"We've earned it," Ruth fired back.

Harry leaned in to kiss her softly. "Too right."

The four of them explored the castle grounds and had a lovely time. Fabian had been the one with Edith when she discovered the squirrels, and the poor man was dragged by the small yet powerful dog as she lunged and barked at everything. He nearly tripped and landed on a part of the ancient wall, but he was able to rescue himself in time.

After that, they decided to head to a pub for lunch. It had started to rain, and Catherine was getting a bit tired. Harry drove them all back to the inn. Fabian and Catherine took Edith for a nap. Ruth was thankful for a bit of alone time with Harry. They got back in the car for a private part of the tour.

She listened happily as he showed her things as they drove by. The sound of his voice, so enthusiastic and happy, made her feel at peace. But he was starting to sound a bit different. "Harry, you've got an accent," she realized.

"Have I?"

"I never imagined you with a Yorkshire accent, but it's been getting stronger and stronger since we got here."

"I did a good job losing it when I joined Five. Can't be a good spook if your speech patterns are too recognizable. I'm sure I'll be rid of it when we get back home."

"Mmm," she hummed in response.

"Would you rather I kept it?"

"I don't know. It's different. And sort of nice, in your voice. It's a bit like when you had that beard. Takes some getting used to, but it's just another side of you for me to love. And a bit exotic at that."

"Yorkshire is exotic now, is it?" he teased.

"Well, if we want to be really exotic, we could just give up on English altogether and converse in another language," she offered.

"I'd rather not," Harry said bluntly. "Besides, enough of that, we're here now."

Ruth looked around through the fog and freezing rain to see that they were up on a hill overlooking the castle. "We were just here," she realized.

"No, we were down by the castle. This is the look-out. And it's a very special place," he told her quite seriously.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Well, back in my day, this is where people would come and park their cars in the evening when taking lovely young ladies out on dates. And this isn't much of a date, but I have the loveliest young lady with me now, so I certainly had to bring you here."

"Harry, I'm forty-two, hardly a 'young lady' anymore. But I'm more interested in who else you took up here," Ruth asked slyly.

"Not as many as you might think. I didn't earn my reputation till I was much older. I was a bit of a lothario after I left home. Jane took great pride in being able to tame me. Though she obviously didn't. I think I only married her because my mother had died and I was trying to do the right thing. And the right thing was to get married and start a family. I was just rubbish at it."

Ruth rubbed his arm comfortingly. "You were doing the best you could. You were being pulled too many directions and couldn't prioritize properly. Most things worked themselves out though."

"That they did," he agreed.

"So how many girls was it you brought up here?"

Harry sighed. Like a dog with a bone, she was. "Three. Just three."

"And who were they?"

Harry grumbled a bit, not having anticipated telling such stories. "Linda Smythe. She was my first girlfriend. My first kiss was with her up here, actually. We were fourteen. I'd taken her out for ice cream and then she held my hand when we took a walk. And I led her up here. We looked out at the castle under the moonlight, and she put her arms around my neck, and I leaned in to kiss her. I don't think I did it right. Not a clue what I was doing."

Ruth smiled at his sweet story. It was so hard to imagine, Harry so young and innocent and clueless. And the idea that he didn't know how to kiss seemed absolutely unbelievable. "Did you get to practice with her a lot?"

He blushed. "Yes."

"And when did you break up?"

"She started going with a footballer the year ahead of us. She was very pretty. Brown hair and green eyes and surprisingly developed for a girl that age. Made sense that an older boy would be taken with her. And I was weird-looking when I was young. Took me a while to grow into my face and my hair and fill out a bit. It never did make sense that Linda would be seen with the likes of me."

"Her loss and my gain," Ruth interjected resolutely.

"Yes, well, I look alright now."

Ruth just laughed, "Yes, you look lovely now. Have you got any pictures from when you were a boy? I would like to judge for myself."

He thought for a moment and remembered, "I might have some in storage at the London house. I can look for the boxes the next time we're there."

"Please do. Alright then, who was the second girl you brought up here?"

"I actually don't remember her name. I know I drove her up here, though. And she was a bad kisser. Bit sloppy. We only went out the one time."

"And was that when you were still weird-looking?"

"Yes, but I'd put on a bit of weight by then, so it was getting better."

"So who was the last one?"

Now Harry was really blushing.

Ruth gasped, "What did you do!?"

"Her name was Jenny Lyons. I was seventeen and she was sixteen and the daughter of my mother's friend and I drove her up here in my father's car and…"

"Harry, did you lose your virginity right here in a car!?"

His pink cheeks and pursed lips gave her the answer she needed. "Apparently she told her mother who then told my mother, and I don't think I've ever seen her more disappointed in me in all my life," he muttered.

"Oh, Harry, you were a young man, it was a perfectly natural and normal thing to do. Though in a car off the main road like this must have been a bit risky."

"Actually, it's not too busy ever. See, even now, there's not a car in sight," he pointed out.

And that was when Ruth started to put the pieces together. She huffed in slight frustration, "I shouldn't have worn jeans, should I?"

"Should you?"

"Well it's easy for you to just unzip and have me climb on top of you, but I've got to take my trousers off in a car, and that's not really the most comfortable thing, is it?"

His eyes widened. "Oh no, Ruth, we don't have to…" But secretly yes, that had been his precise hope in bringing her up here. And the stirrings of arousal were beginning at her rather apt suggestion.

"Isn't that why we've come up here? So you can have a decent shag overlooking the castle? I can't imagine your first time was any good, none of us know what we're doing at that age."

"Well, I didn't know the difference at the time. I thought I'd done quite well."

"But upon reflection?" she asked knowingly.

"That poor girl."

Ruth just laughed merrily. "Oh come on, Harry. You've got your lovely young lady in your car, we may as well make good use of it."

Harry grinned and pulled her into his arms and kissed her with everything he had. It took a bit of fumbling and awkward maneuvering, but they managed much better than he and Jenny ever had. Besides, Harry hadn't loved any of those other girls he'd brought up here. He'd never loved anyone the way he loved Ruth. And even if it took impending grandfatherhood to be able to bring her up to this place, Harry was delighted beyond words to be able to share it with her. Yorkshire accent and all.


	28. Chapter 28

She wasn't going to make the same mistake this time. Ruth knew that for certain. _Yes, I'll make all new mistakes_ , she thought to herself ruefully as she pressed send on the email. It was sent and gone, and here in her post-spook life, she had no means of retrieving it.

And as soon as it was gone, she picked up her laptop from where it sat on the office desk and went downstairs. "Harry?" she called from the landing.

"We're in the living room," Harry called back. At the present moment, he was sitting on the floor playing with Edith. The little thing was growing every day, and Harry intended to make sure she properly exercised and got all the love and attention she deserved. Noodles, their orange cat, sat on the sofa and watched with the very specific feline sense of disdain.

Ruth stood there and watched the scene for a moment, feeling all sorts of affection. It was wonderful to see how well Harry was doing with his new knee. He had been known to avoid the floor at all costs before, knowing it was hit or miss whether he'd be able to get back up. Now, he was constantly walking the dog and getting down to play with her and had not one ounce of pain through any of it.

"Were you looking for me?" he asked, not looking away from Edith.

"Yes, actually, I wanted to show you something before I go. I've got lecture soon."

Harry kissed the dog on the snout and got up to go to Ruth. "Presentation slides?" he asked, assuming whatever she wanted to show him was to do with her lecture.

"No, here, look," she said, handing him the laptop.

Open on the screen was the Sent folder of Ruth's personal email, showing a message she'd just sent a minute before. The recipient was Graham Townsend. "Ruth, you didn't!" he scolded.

"Just read it," she insisted.

Harry returned his attention to the screen and read the message.

 _Dear Graham, It's been a while since I've heard from you, and I must confess that I miss our correspondence. Our last interaction obviously wasn't a very good one. And I know Harry told you not to contact us until you apologized. But I'm afraid I've never been good at waiting around for other people once I've made up my mind about something. Christmas is coming soon. And part of my original motivation for getting in touch with you was because of the family Christmas we had last year. And you weren't there. Even with everything that's happened, with all the awful things that all three of us said when you came here in October, I want to invite you to spend Christmas with us. Catherine and Fabian are coming for the luncheon, as are a few other friends that Harry and I have known for a long time. Regardless of the baggage and the hurt feelings, you are still family, Graham. And I hope that you might be able to put aside some of that pain just for the afternoon and spend Christmas in Suffolk with us. Hope to hear from you soon. Love, Ruth_

Harry reached the end of the email and positively exploded. "God dammit, Ruth!" he shouted. He put the laptop on the side table before he hurled it to the ground. "After all the fuss you caused forcing him into our lives, after I specifically told him not to bother speaking to us without an apology, you go and drag him back without any sort of consequences!? How do you think he became a bloody drug addict to begin with? He never had repercussions for his actions! He thinks he's too goddamn clever for polite society!"

Ruth's jaw dropped in shock. Not since he was Section Head had she heard him shout like that. And never had it been directed at her. But Harry Pearce wasn't her boss anymore. And she was no meek little analyst seeking approval. "How dare you! He is your son, Harry, and I will not allow you to continue to push him away. Graham is just like you, too stubborn and thinks he knows everything and very vindictive."

"And you think I'm like that?"

"I know you are!" she shouted. "Because that's exactly what you're doing! You thought you were too smart to be a proper father, thought you could leave him to make his own mistakes and give him the means to just keep on doing it. The only time he managed to clean up his life was when you stopped enabling him!"

"How would you know? You've never been a parent!" he snarled.

That comment stung as though he slapped her across the face. "Other than biologically, neither were you!" she snapped back.

Harry didn't have a response readily formulated for that. His stomach dropped as the truth of those words settled inside him.

Ruth turned to pick up her laptop and stormed back upstairs. She had better things to do than be berated by Harry.

A weight against his ankle caused Harry to regain some sort of awareness. Edith was leaning on him, her little tail wagging as she looked up at him. It was as though she had no idea that there had just be a rather nasty argument in the room. Noodles had leapt off the sofa and crawled under it, only his tail flicking out giving evidence of where he was. Clearly the cat felt the tension. Edith didn't seem to know any better. Perhaps she just wasn't very smart. Harry leaned down to pick her up. He kissed her snout again and was rewarded by a lick on his face. "Let's go see Ruth and apologize. It's not good for her to go to class angry," he murmured.

They had both said some awful things. But this, just like everything Ruth had done with respect to Graham, was done from love and the very best intentions. And Harry had attempted to vilify her for it. She set him straight, somewhat harshly, but he deserved it.

But before Harry could go upstairs to speak to her and express his contrition, Ruth came running down the stairs carrying her bag. She grabbed a coat and her car keys and hurried out the front door, slamming it behind her. It was snowing out, but she didn't bother to take a scarf. Harry stared at the front door and frowned. "Oh dear, we can't have that, can we?" he said to himself.

As he fenced Edith into the kitchen—it was too cold for her to stay out in the garden for any length of time and she was still unpredictable with her toilet habits so she couldn't remain on the carpet unsupervised—Harry began to think rather seriously about Ruth. Not that he didn't always think about her, not that he didn't always know precisely how he felt about her. He'd been giving her quite serious thought for a while now. And so before he left the house, Harry went upstairs to the jacket of his tuxedo and pulled the small velvet box he'd stashed inside and slipped it into the pocket of his trousers. He pulled on his own coat and scarf and gloves and got in his car to follow Ruth to the university.

By the time he got a parking space in one of the non-permitted areas, her lecture was about to start. As subtly as he could, Harry slipped into the hall and found a seat on the aisle toward the back. Unlike all the students, he did not have a laptop or notebook to write in. So he just sat and folded his hands in his lap and waited.

There was a din of noise as the students all chatted away. A young woman squeezed past Harry and sat down beside him. Her long black hair was getting all over the place as she shrugged off her coat and tried to fling it all over her shoulder.

"Hi, sorry," she apologized. Her dark eyes sparkled kindly and her teeth looked very white against her dark skin. "Are you new? I haven't seen you in class before."

"No, I'm not a student. I need to speak to your professor, and I wasn't able to catch her in her office before class, so I figured I'd speak with her after," he explained.

The girl just smiled and gave a nod. She held out her hand and introduced herself. "I'm Prihatha Naran."

"Harry Pearce," he replied, shaking her hand politely.

Prihatha's eyes widened. "Harry! Are you Professor Evershed's chap Harry?"

He had to laugh. "Is that what she calls me?"

"Sometimes she mentions you. She usually just says 'my Harry' but we know you're not married, so we just call you her chap."

"I quite like that, actually. Strangely more dignified than 'boyfriend,' I think."

Prihatha nodded. "There's a picture of the two of you in her office. You've got a beard in the picture, that's why I didn't recognize you."

Harry had only sported a beard while recovering from surgery, and the only photos they'd taken had been on their travels to Rome. The photo must been from there.

He was about to say something more to Prihatha, but Ruth had entered the hall from the door behind the podium and everyone quickly fell silent. The students obviously had a great deal of respect for her, which pleased Harry greatly.

She began her lecture without much fuss. This was one of her literature classes. Greek and Roman poetry, this one. Not to be confused with the class she would be teaching next semester's class, Greek and Roman plays. Ruth spoke passionately about Virgil, and Harry could not help but smile. And he would be lying if getting to listen to her recite Latin didn't turn him on just a bit.

This class started out just as any other for Ruth. She had been able to cool her anger at Harry during her short drive to campus, and she'd begun to feel a bit guilty for the way she'd shouted at him. It never did any good to rise to the bait when he was irrationally angry. She should have known he'd be upset by her email. She should have waited until she got home that evening to discuss it with him. But she also knew if she didn't do it right away, she might not have shown him at all. And then she'd be doing the same thing she'd done the first time with Graham, keeping it all secret from Harry.

She had all but put that problem out of her mind when she'd come to start class. And she'd even been able to get through quite a bit of her lecture before her eye was drawn to the back of the lecture hall. And there, sitting amongst her young students, was Harry.

Ruth faltered when she made eye contact with him. He did feel a bit bad, sneaking in like this without warning. It must have been quite a distraction to her. But this was all he could do. And he quickly realized that causing some sort of scene would be a terrible idea. He felt the small box in his pocket, pressed against his thigh. It was like a lead weight. He'd keep it in his pocket for now and put it back in its hiding place as soon as he got home. This was not the time or the place. He would stick to his original plan with that.

The hour ended faster than anyone might have expected, quite thankfully. Ruth had muddled through Virgil as best she could, trying not to spend too much time staring at Harry, though she could hardly keep her eyes off him. But for Ruth, that had always been the case.

Ruth spouted off a reminder about the final reading assignment before the end of the semester and her special office hours before exams, and all the students started to get up to leave. Harry bid farewell to Prihatha, who he had noticed took extremely meticulous notes with small, beautiful handwriting. And as everyone flooded out the back doors, Harry went down the stairs toward the front of the room. Ruth was standing there, watching him, waiting for him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quietly, trying not to sound accusatory.

"You left home without your scarf," he replied, handing the soft green wool to her.

She took the scarf and caressed the fabric. Harry had bought that scarf for her in Yorkshire; she'd noticed it in a shop and remarked that it was the same color as the peeling paint on their front door. "Thank you," she murmured.

"And I also wanted to apologize for shouting. And for the things I said. I was unkind, and it wasn't fair. I'm very sorry, Ruth," he told her earnestly.

"I meant what I put in that email," she told him. "I want our family to be together. All of them. There is absolutely no reason why the two of you need to be kept apart. And I care for you both too much to allow you to continue to be so pigheaded. Or in your case, I will not allow you to continue to be such a stubborn old mule."

A flicker of smile appeared on his face. "Mule?"

Ruth pursed her lips, not wanting to let him see her smile yet. "You heard me."

"I did come here and apologize without any fuss. Surely that means I'm starting to mend my mule-ish ways?" he asked, hoping a slight teasing would go a long way towards mending their hurt feelings.

"I only want you to be happy, Harry," she said quietly. "I just love you so much."

"I know, darling," he replied. "I think I'm too used to people trying to manipulate me."

"Well, I never will," she vowed. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I shouted at you. I said things just to hurt you, which I never want to do. We were both unkind to each other, and I think it's best if we move on from it." Ruth held out her hand to him.

Harry nodded and took her hand. He allowed her to lead him back through the faculty corridors to her office. She gathered her things without a word so they could go home.


	29. Chapter 29

Harry hurried downstairs upon hearing the sad little barks from poor Edith. "I know, sweetheart," he cooed, trying to calm her as he approached. "Stay still, please. Let's get you freed."

Ruth came inside at that very moment, put down a large parcel, and dusted the snow off herself. "What's going on?" she asked, seeing Harry crouched down by the Christmas tree.

"Edith's caught up again," he told her.

She came running right over, tossing her coat on the sofa. "Here, Harry, go get the food for me. I'll handle this."

Harry moved aside and watched Ruth deftly hold the puppy still with one hand and unravel the lights and garland and tinsel with the other. He smiled to see his Ruth pick up their dog and snuggle with her.

"Yes, I know. I know you like to play with all the decorations I worked so hard to put up. I want to make the house a Christmas winter wonderland, but you're just too nosy for your own good, aren't you? Yes, you little darling, yes you are." Ruth laughed as puppy kisses assaulted her face.

"I'm so glad you like her," Harry commented.

"Of course I like her! I love her, Harry. That's why I got her. She was a present for you, but we all live here. I wouldn't have gotten you a dog I didn't want."

"I know, but you tend to be less affectionate with her," he pointed out.

"I prefer to bestow my affection on you," she replied with a wink. "And you're lucky I don't get too jealous of this younger woman I brought home for you."

Harry laughed and went to gather the food and take it to the kitchen. Ruth put Edith down and went back to her intricately decorated Christmas tree to repair the damage from their pets. Noodles tended to be more illicit in his destruction of Ruth's hard work. She had conceded a few days earlier to Harry that perhaps she had gone a bit overboard with the decoration this year, particularly with a cat and a dog underfoot, but now that they had a second annual Christmas luncheon with their friends and family, she wanted to go all out. And she had done just that. There was mistletoe in almost every doorway—which Harry took very good advantage of—and tinsel and candles and garland and lights everywhere. Harry had lovingly told her it looked like Santa's workshop had exploded in their living room. Ruth took that as a job well done.

Ruth went to the kitchen to help Harry. She'd ordered a huge amount of food from their local market so she wouldn't be stuck in the kitchen the whole time this year. She wanted to be out and enjoying all the company; she'd cooked her goose and once was enough. And they'd have more people this year, and she knew their simple kitchen could not accommodate preparing for everyone.

After he'd unboxed everything and placed it all in the serving dishes Ruth had laid out, Harry wiped his hands and took a moment to sidle up to Ruth, still arranging things. He wrapped his arms around her middle and pressed his face to her neck.

"Hello, my love," she said with a smile, tilting her head to touch his affectionately. She was happy to let him hold her just like that.

"Just wanted a bit of quiet with you before the hoards arrive," Harry said in between soft kisses to her skin.

"Such nice hoards though," she noted.

He chuckled against her neck. And before he could say another word, the doorbell rang and the dog started barking. "Oh damn, she's going to be doing that all day," he grumbled.

Ruth just laughed. "Go answer the door, Harry. I'll be there in a minute."

Over the next hour, all their guests arrived and the now-traditional game of Monopoly began. There were too many of them to play individually, so they were on teams. Wes Carter insisted Uncle Harry play with him. Ruth and Catherine teamed up. Malcolm matched with Tim from next door, and his partner, Geoff, paired with Fabian. The competition was fierce, particularly as the booze flowed freely.

"Harry, pour me another, would you?" Ruth asked a bit too loudly. "I'm drinking for two."

"Oh are you?" he laughed, taking her glass and refilling it with more wine.

"Yes. Catherine can't drink since she's going to have a baby in about twenty minutes, so I'll have her share," Ruth explained.

Catherine herself sat beside Ruth on the sofa with her hands on her enormous belly. "I'm not due for another three weeks, but it could be twenty minutes if you keep making me laugh!" The two women erupted into hysterics again, particularly when the baby began to kick and Ruth got to feel it and launched into a discussion of the Ancient Greek birthing rituals.

The doorbell rang again, and since Harry was already up pouring wine for Ruth and everyone else, he went to answer it, shouting at Edith to quit barking as he made his way there. He was full of joy and laughter when he opened the door, when his face immediately fell.

Graham stood there, snow falling on his curly blond hair, staring at his father. "I was invited," he said flatly.

"I know," Harry replied gruffly.

"You got a dog," Graham noticed, looking down to see the puppy struggling to get at their guest but blocked by the bulk of Harry's legs.

Harry nodded. "Birthday present from Ruth." He opened the door for his son to come inside. "Hang up your coat. I want to talk to you. Give me a moment," he instructed. He let Edith greet Graham and hurried back to the living room.

The game was still in full swing. Ruth was still having a marvelous time. "Who was at the door?" she asked.

Harry answered her only indirectly. "Ruth, I've got to take care of some things. I'll be in the study for a while. Wes, you think you can hold up our team on your own?" He flashed a falsely confident smile to the boy.

Wes nodded. "I won't let you down, Uncle Harry."

Something in Harry's chest fluttered strangely. "You never could," he said softly.

Ruth was lost in conversation with Geoff and Tim and Fabian, all four of them arguing about French politics. But Catherine was watching her father curiously, mildly worried about what was going on.

Malcolm was the one to respond to Harry. "I'll keep an eye on everything," he assured his old friend.

Harry just nodded and went back to the foyer to see to Graham. He found him crouched down petting the dog and looking at her tag. Graham looked up to see his father approach. "Edith?"

"Ruth named her. But I used to have a dog called Scarlett, so I suppose it fits," he explained. "Let's you and I go upstairs. We're going to have this out. No need to ruin Christmas for the others."

Graham stood and followed Harry up to the study. "I didn't come here to ruin Christmas for anyone," he said petulantly.

"The intention doesn't always denote the outcome," Harry replied wisely.

The two didn't speak again until Harry showed Graham to the chair in front of the desk and closed the door behind them both. He took his own seat and put the laptop to the side. He'd been slowly working on a book about West Yorkshire.

He looked at his son's face. A desk and two decades of animosity separated them. That made them closer than they'd been since the boy was born, as far as Harry was concerned. "I didn't know you'd accepted Ruth's invitation," Harry began. He knew he needed to keep calm and refrain from increasing the tension between them and resist rising to the bait that Graham would surely proffer. Likely easier said than done.

"I wasn't sure I would come. I didn't think I wanted to. And I didn't have anything I could say to her in an email. Not after you threw me out of here last time."

Harry exhaled slowly. Not rising to the bait. "What made you decide to come anyway? We aren't exactly around the corner."

Graham made such intense eye contact with such stony silence that Harry was painfully reminded of the boy's mother. Harry didn't think of Jane often at all and being confronted with his ex-wife in such a manner was rather jarring. But thankfully Graham spoke and redirected Harry's attention. "You and I seeing each other last time didn't go like I wanted. I guess I should have expected it. But I wanted to actually talk to you and not just yell at you. And god, the things I said to Ruth. She really is too nice, inviting me like she did after all that."

"Don't confuse her kindness with weakness. Too many people have made that mistake. Me included."

"Oh?"

"I don't know how much she's told you about how she and I ended up together, but the Service really did a number on her. On me, too, but I saw her first and last days there. And I've seen how she's changed since we left. And I assure you that she can survive anything and come out the other side full of more compassion than you'd ever believe. I think perhaps she's right about us being alike. We've had our share of horrible circumstances, and we both just ended up bitter about it all."

Graham gave a small smile. "I guess so."

Harry shifted in his chair and sat forward. Time to get down to the important parts. "I owe you an explanation. About quite a lot of things, I'm sure, but I'll start with this one. About five years ago now, I stopped sending bail money for you."

The light in Graham's eyes turned cold. He nodded stiffly, waiting quietly to hear the truth he had been tormented by for these last years.

"I had been kidnapped. I was sold to an Iranian madman who tied me up in a warehouse and demanded to know the location of uranium I had smuggled out of Baghdad a few years earlier. And when I wouldn't tell him, he somehow found Ruth and dragged her in. I hadn't seen her in over two years."

"She faked her death to keep you out of prison," Graham recalled.

Harry nodded. "Yes. I thought I'd never see her again. And to have her brought in front of me and made a part of the horrors I was facing…"

"What did they do to her?"

"I don't think it's my place to give details. Our captor knew that Ruth was the only one I'd told. And through threats to her and others, she told them the location. Or what she thought was the location. But eventually my team at Five found us and we were rescued and the uranium was safe. Ruth was shattered beyond belief for reasons I don't think we should get into. And having her back in England and back on the job after all that was between us was rather stressful. By the time we'd gotten a bit settled, I realized I hadn't heard any news from you in quite a while. And at the time, I was rather certain that your mother and sister might have avoided telling me if something had happened to you. I did a search and saw you were a patient at that facility."

"You knew where I was?"

"Of course. I have never gone more than two months without knowing exactly where you were, Graham," Harry said softly.

"Why didn't you…" He trailed off, his voice cracking with emotion.

"I was never anything of a father to you. My presence in your life was never regular and thanks to my neglect, I know my presence became unwelcome. Keeping you out of jail was perhaps not what you needed, since you just ended up back in trouble every time, but I didn't know what else to do. It was quite literally the least I could do, but at the time, it was all I could do for you. And once you got your act together and had a good thing going with getting clean and the job, I just didn't want to interfere. You've never really needed me, and I didn't deserve your attention."

"You're my dad. Of course I needed you," Graham interrupted. His eyes were filled with tears that he tried to blink away. "You were my hero when I was little. I was desperate for you to want me, and I didn't think you ever did."

"I am more sorry than I can ever tell you. No child should ever feel unwanted. And I know my words mean nothing now, but I wish more than anything I could have been the father I wanted to be for you."

"You and me both."

The two men fell silent. Perhaps there was more to say, more to uncover and share and work through. But neither was ready to make any more such efforts now. They'd done all the needed to for now.

"Do you think I could talk to Ruth? I do need to apologize to her before I can really join in any festivities. Assuming I'm allowed to stay."

"Of course you're allowed to stay," Harry replied. "I'll bring Ruth up. If she can."

"I don't want to interrupt."

"No she'll love to see you. But when I last saw her, she was half-pissed."

Graham started to laugh. "Oh this I gotta see!"

Harry went back downstairs, hearing the talking and laughing of his friends and family getting louder as he got to them.

"Uncle Harry, we won!" Wes announced triumphantly.

"Two years in a row Harry's won now," Malcolm lamented.

"Oh cheer up, Malcolm. We did send Geoff to jail. That was a laugh," Tim said, patting his game partner on the back.

Harry grinned. "Wesley Carter, we seem to be an unstoppable force. Well done, lad." He made his way to where Ruth was sprawled on the sofa between Catherine and Geoff. "Darling, can I borrow you for a moment?"

"You needn't borrow me, Harry. You can have me anytime you like. I'm all yours!" she told him with a dreamy sort of smile.

Geoff wisely took Ruth by the elbow and helped her stand. Catherine protected her belly from being bumped by Ruth's stumbling as she made her way to Harry. "Can you get up to the study on your own?"

"I should think so," she replied, a look of determination crossing her flushed face.

Harry couldn't help but laugh at her a little bit. He had never seen her in this state of inebriation before and, like most things about Ruth, the drunkenness was shockingly endearing. He kissed her cheek and sent her upstairs. "Right, I'll get the food on. Fabian, can I ask for a hand in the kitchen, please?"

The Frenchman gave his pregnant partner a look before following Harry out of the room. Catherine just shrugged at him and turned back to answering Wes's questions about what it felt like to have a baby inside her.

"Everything alright, Harry?" Fabian asked.

Harry replied with question of his own. "Tell me, have you met Catherine's brother?" Fabian nodded. "Yes, but we haven't seen him too much. He doesn't travel, and we haven't spent much time in London over the years. But we've seen him more since we've been back. And he was at Jane's last Christmas."

"You know then, the difficulties that Graham and I have had?"

"Just that you don't see or speak to each other. Catherine's careful not to mention you when he's around."

Harry hummed knowingly. Very wise woman, his daughter. "Well, Ruth's been in contact with Graham since my surgery back in January. And he's upstairs now."

"He is!?"

"Yes. I think we've…patched things," Harry explained delicately. "Enough that we can all have a nice Christmas lunch. But he needs to have some words with Ruth first. And speaking of lunch, grab that platter, would you?"

As the two men put out the food for everyone to serve themselves, Ruth had made her way up to the study. It took her a moment to remember that the door opened inward and not out, but she got the hang of it eventually.

"Hello, Ruth."

She looked up and saw Graham standing uncomfortably in the middle of the study, something she was wholly unprepared for. "You're here! For Christmas!" she said in surprise.

"Yes. Thank you for the invitation. But I owe you an apology, Ruth."

Her brow furrowed at him. There was far too much wine clouding her mind for her to really focus on controlling herself. So she didn't. "Yes, you do! You called me a desperate frump! And you were really mean to Harry!"

Graham nearly burst out laughing at her drunken indignity. "I know. I was upset and I took it out on you. And you didn't deserve any of that."

Ruth just pouted, waiting for him to continue.

"You've been nothing but wonderful to me from the beginning. And I've been a complete arse. And I have no right to be. I thought I did, but you were right, I was being childish. Dad and I talked, and I got the answers I really needed. I'm glad you kept me waiting for him to tell me himself. So I'm sorry for all the hurt and bother I've caused. And I've really missed emailing with you."

"I've missed you too," she replied with a smile. "Now come here, please." Ruth opened her arms and took Graham into a big hug. "Come on downstairs for lunch. I desperately need food. And you can stay sober with Catherine and Wes."

"Catherine and Wes?" Graham asked as he put his arm around Ruth to held her down the stairs.

"Well, Catherine's pregnant and Wes is underage. And you can meet our friends." She just beamed. "I'm just so glad we can all be together for Christmas! Next year, you'll have to arrive earlier so you can play Monopoly. And perhaps bring Sharon with you. We need an even number for teams."

"I'm not dating Sharon!"

"Well you should."

"If you say so," Graham placated.

Ruth laughed, "You should listen to me, Graham. I've made a lot of mistakes by being too cautious and too afraid of getting hurt. And when I took a big risk, I ended up happier than I ever dreamed. Besides, I'm very smart."

Harry looked around the large dining table at the crowd of loved ones assembled around him. Catherine and Malcolm and Tim were all talking and laughing about something. Fabian was chatting with Ruth and Geoff. Graham was sitting beside Wes and talking to the young boy with a distinct air of kindness that Harry found to be incredibly heartwarming. He had never really believed it to be possible, that all this could come together. That he would have both of his children with him for Christmas—voluntarily—with his friends and neighbors. It was all thanks to Ruth, of course. Everything good in his life was thanks to her. She had made this all happen, and he felt more gratitude for her than he could ever express.

"Uncle Harry, can we go out and play rugby?"

He looked over to see Wes's eager face. "Who do you mean 'we'?" he asked cautiously.

"All of us!" Graham responded with his own mischievous grin.

"Oh no fair, I can't play!" Catherine whined. Harry suddenly remembered that she had been quite interested in sport when she was young. Had she played rugby? He didn't quite recall, but perhaps she had.

"You can ref for us, Cat," Graham reasoned, helping his sister stand up and join the excited fourteen-year-old by the backdoor with his rugby ball. The rest of the men eagerly joined as well. Malcolm enjoyed the strategy of sport, if not the actual act of it. Geoff, a florist by trade, had absolutely no interest in sport, but Tim was a bit of a jock.

Harry let them out into the garden with little Edith barking happily at their ankles. "You lot get started. We'll be out in a bit."

Ruth stood by the chaos of their dining table with a distinct air of displeasure. "I don't want to clean this now."

"So don't. Let me give you your Christmas present instead. I didn't get to this morning before everyone arrived," Harry told her, taking her hand and leading her over to the tree.

She gave him a curious look. "I thought I got my gift already."

"Spending the morning with my tongue between your legs is a gift for us both," he murmured in her ear, delighting in how she blushed. She was much less drunk than she had been before lunch, but she was still rather pink-faced and smiling.

"And if anyone asks what you got me for Christmas, I can't just say multiple orgasms," she reasoned.

Harry grinned and gave her a quick kiss. "Here, open this," he said, handing her a small velvet box with a green bow.

Ruth gave a small gasp seeing the size and shape of that box. "Oh…Harry…"

He gave a soft smile. "I love you very much, Ruth, and you've given me everything I could ever want in the world. You got both of my children to spend Christmas with us here in our home. I have never been happier in all my life. And I just wanted to give you something beautiful and meaningful."

She opened the box with a pounding heart. Inside were a pair of diamond earrings, more stunningly beautiful than Ruth had ever seen with her own eyes.

Harry was rather certain she had been expecting an engagement ring, but no. Christmas wasn't the time for that. He explained the gift. "I found them in an antique shop when we were in Yorkshire. Catherine helped me pick them out. We both agreed they seemed like you. They're Georgian floret clusters. Just over three and a quarter carats total, set in platinum."

Ruth traced the beautiful diamonds. "You shouldn't let me get used to fancy jewelry, I'll get spoiled," she told him, blinking back tears.

He just smiled and kissed her again. "Happy Christmas, darling."

"Thank you, my love."


	30. Chapter 30

As soon as Fabian called, Harry and Ruth ran right out of the house. They called Tim from next door to take care of the animals and got on the road as quick as they could. Harry was practically shaking with nerves. Ruth kept her hand securely on top of his knee while he drove, gently rubbing to keep him calm. It was an exciting day.

They arrived at the hospital in Gerrands Cross and saw Fabian there waiting for them. "Oh thank goodness you're here. It's nearly time. The delivery is going a lot faster than anyone thought. But Catherine made the doctor promise that nothing would happen till you got here."

"She's in delivery already?!" Harry asked, seeming to recall that labor for a first birth could take hours and hours and hours.

"Very nearly. We're pretty sure she was in the shower when her water broke, so she didn't notice right away. By the time we got here, she'd already dilated too far to get the epidural."

Ruth blanched at that thought. Having never been pregnant or given birth herself, she was reasonably terrified of all the horrific things that happen to a woman's body and the idea of the unimaginable pain that it must entail. "So she's having a natural birth?"

"She'll have to. I know she's a bit scared, but she did tell me that you told her all about ancient birthing techniques and she's hanging onto the idea that it's been done without aid of painkillers since the dawn of time, so she'll be alright," Fabian said.

A small part of Ruth felt rather chuffed that her ridiculous ranting at Catherine had actually made her feel better, but any good feeling left her when she heard Harry mutter, "Women have also been dying of childbirth since the dawn of time."

She nudged him and scolded, "None of that, now."

A nurse rushed out, calling for Mr. Duval. "Ms. Townsend has asked for you to come back. She's ready to start pushing."

Fabian turned to Harry and Ruth. "I guess it's time now!" There was a wild sort of look in his eyes that made them both a bit nervous.

"Think he'll be alright?" Ruth asked as they watched him run after the nurse to join Catherine in the delivery room.

"He's a good lad. He'll be fine. Though I actually have no idea how he'll do."

Ruth chuckled lightly. "How did you fare?"

"I wasn't in the delivery room when my children were born."

"They wouldn't let you in?"

"No, I was off working. I was in Berlin when Catherine was born. I think I might have been in Northern Ireland when Graham came along."

"Oh." Ruth didn't want to say anything else to make him feel badly about it. He'd been a different man then, she knew. His priorities had not been as they should have, and he now lived with regret for those difficult days. "Shall we sit somewhere? It might be a while, I'd imagine."

Harry nodded.

"Do think it'll be a boy or a girl?" she asked, trying to make conversation to keep them both from being too anxious.

"No idea. I know Fabian wants a girl. Told me so at Christmas. But Catherine was adamant that they not find out early."

Ruth smiled. "Yes, she was telling me how she doesn't want them to get too many preconceived notions of their child before he or she arrives. Rather modern of her."

"That's Catherine for you," Harry grumbled.

They were interrupted by another visitor for the birth. "Hey there you two." Graham came over and immediately gave Ruth a big hug when she stood up.

"You're just in time. Fabian just went back to be with her while she pushes. You'll be an uncle any time now," she told him.

"Christ, that's a hell of a thing, isn't it? How're you doing, Dad?" he asked, turning from Ruth to his father.

"Eager to meet the new little one," Harry replied simply.

"And how was it seeing Mum?"

Harry's face was immediately filled with horror. "She's not here, is she?"

"She's the one who called me to come. I assumed she was here."

Fabian came running out once again. "Ruth! Ruth, Catherine wants you."

"She does?" Ruth asked in surprise.

"She just said 'Go get Ruth' so that's what I'm doing."

"Oh. Erm…alright." She shot a questioning look at Harry who just gestured for her to follow Fabian. Ruth had to jog to catch up with the nervous father-to-be.

As soon as she opened the door, Catherine screamed. Ruth nearly fainted. But Catherine recovered quickly and saw Ruth come in. "Ruth! Ruth, come hold my hand!" she begged.

Ruth rushed to the younger woman's side to take her extended hand. Catherine's bright blonde hair was plastered to her sweaty face. She was all red and breathing heavily from the pain and exhaustion she was undoubtedly experiencing. And if that wasn't enough, holding Catherine's other hand was an older woman with matching blonde hair and soft brown eyes, looking tall and slim and incredibly elegant.

"Hello, Ruth, I'm Jane Townsend."

And in that moment, for the first time in two years, Ruth wished she hadn't survived her stab wound. Thankfully, Ruth didn't have to interact much with Harry's ex-wife just then. There was a doctor sitting between Catherine's legs telling her to push and Catherine was whimpering and screeching with every breath. Fabian was standing nearby looking about ready to be sick. Ruth and Jane just held her hands as she squeezed onto them.

"One more, Catherine," the doctor said. "Here's the head now. Just one more big push!"

A wailing cry filled the room. Catherine gasped and started crying and laughing. "Is that my baby!?"

"That's your baby," the doctor confirmed. "You've got a baby girl! And Dad can come over and cut the umbilical cord."

Fabian's hands were shaking as tears fell down his cheeks. He cut the cord and the nurse wrapped the baby in a blanket to put her in Catherine's arms.

Ruth felt a bit out of place but was in such awe of the miracle of birth and the immense emotion of the moment that she couldn't be bothered. She watched as Jane blinked back tears and met her granddaughter.

"Welcome, little miss," Jane cooed. "I'm your granny. And you've got quite a set of lungs, don't you?"

Catherine laughed. "I think she probably takes after me."

"Oh yes, you cried your little head off when you were born. You looked just like that, too," Jane told her.

The nurse took the baby to clean her off and make sure everything was as it should be. The doctor asked everyone except the father to leave the room while the afterbirth was delivered and they took the new mother to a private room. Ruth and Jane both followed instructions and went out to the hallway.

"I'm sorry about this," Ruth began awkwardly. "I shouldn't've…"

"Oh you needn't apologize, Ruth. I know Catherine wanted you to be there with her. She's told me how close you've become in the last year or so. And I don't know what Harry's told you about me…"

"Very little. Practically nothing, actually," Ruth confessed.

"That's probably for the best. But I'm very glad to meet you. I was just as skeptical as Catherine and Graham were when they heard that their father had retired and was living with some younger woman."

Ruth felt her cheeks grow hot at that.

"Both of my children have had only the best things to say about you, the chief of which is that you're lovely and Harry doesn't deserve you," Jane laughed.

"Oh, no, that's not true. It's…well…"

Jane placed a kind hand on Ruth's forearm. "You needn't explain. I did marry him all those years ago, I know how wonderful he can be. And losing him to his other priorities like I did was very painful. But you were enough to change his mind. That's no easy feat. And you succeeded in reuniting Graham and Harry, which I never thought would happen. And Catherine absolutely adores you. So I hope we can all be civil and friendly, for the baby's sake if nothing else."

"Yes, that would be best. I only want the best for Harry and for his family," Ruth told her quietly.

"Our family."

"Sorry?"

Jane smiled. "It's our family, Ruth. Harry's and mine and yours. We've all got our place, and we're all glad you're a part of it."

Ruth was slightly stunned. Not only had she not expected to ever meet Jane Townsend, but she could have never predicted that she would be so warm and kind from the first. Perhaps it was the emotion of being present for the birth of her first grandchild, but Ruth was quite blown away by the graciousness of the woman. And she had a brief moment of being cross with Harry for having ever treated Jane as he had. But, as she'd thought not an hour earlier, he'd been different then. Perhaps Jane had been different then, too.

"Shall we go join Harry? Seeing us together might give him the fright of his life."

"Yes, and Graham's with him, too."

"So he's going from being alone with Graham to seeing the two of us? Poor old sod," she teased.

Ruth couldn't help but laugh. Poor Harry, indeed.

They went out to the waiting room. Jane beamed smiling and announced, "It's a girl!" She then right to Graham and gave him a hug.

Harry's distress was evident on his face. He pulled Ruth aside. "What's she done to you?" he demanded.

"She's been extremely kind. But we can worry about that later. Harry, you're a grandfather!" she reminded him.

His whole expression softened. "I suppose I am. Good lord. What was it like? Is she alright? And Catherine?"

"Everyone's just fine. I only got a glimpse of the baby. She was crying and Fabian cut the cord and Catherine was crying and laughing. It was incredible."

"What's she look like?"

Ruth smiled. "She was bright pink and she's got some wispy hair. Probably takes after Catherine."

"Gosh," Harry breathed. He didn't have any other words for it. It was incredible to believe, even after spending so much time with Catherine while she was pregnant, that there was a baby in the world now. His granddaughter! And he couldn't wait to meet her.

Fabian came and collected them all a moment later. Harry took Ruth's hand and followed him down the hall with Graham and Jane behind them. They found Catherine in a private room, sitting up and looking exhausted and glowing and happy. She had a pink bundle in her arms.

"Everyone, this is Claire Townsend-Duval," Catherine announced.

"Townsend is her middle name?" Jane asked proudly.

"No, the surname is hyphenated," Fabian explained.

Catherine looked up at her father. "Her middle name is Pearce."

The lump in Harry's throat threatened to overtake him. He just nodded and swallowed hard. Ruth snaked her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, giving him a squeeze.

"Dad, you want to hold her? Mum got to meet her already, so it's your turn."

Harry tentatively came forward to take little Claire from her mother's arms. She was quiet and calm, for the moment, and so incredibly tiny. "Oh you precious little darling," he breathed. "You are the most wonderful thing I've ever seen, Claire."

Ruth stood nearby and watched, looking at the baby's face and at Harry's as he fell madly in love with his granddaughter.

From the bed, Catherine watched as well, smiling. "Claire, that's Granddad and Nana Ruth. And you're going to love them."

Ruth turned sharply. "Nana Ruth?"

"Is that alright? It feels a bit odd for you to be Grandma or something like that, but you're more than just Ruth to her."

"Am I?" Ruth asked in disbelief.

"Of course you are," Jane insisted. "So it's settled. I'll be Granny and you'll be Nana Ruth."

Ruth blushed with sheer delight. "Thank you, I'm...I'm honored."

Harry looked over to his ex-wife in slight surprise. She'd always been a very warm, gentle woman. Came from being a teacher, Harry knew. But he and Jane had not ended on the best of terms and he knew better than anyone that her kindness had a limit and behind it was a vicious vitriol that still haunted him in many ways. She must have gotten over it to be so welcoming to Ruth.

Next, it was Uncle Graham's turn to meet his new niece. Fabian and Catherine and Graham were huddled around the baby, leaving Harry a moment to actually greet Jane for the first time in a decade. "We're grandparents," he stated, not quite knowing what else to say.

"We are. How does that feel with your arrogant sense of immortality?" Jane asked him with a sharp undercurrent to her pleasant tone of voice.

Ah yes, there it was. Harry knew his Jane was in there somewhere. "I am all too aware of the passage of time and mortality of man and woman alike," he replied delicately. "That being said, I am very glad to be here and be a part of Catherine's new family."

"Well, you've earned it, from what I hear," Jane said.

"Yes, he has," Ruth insisted, taking Harry's hand and holding it tight.

Jane just smiled and gave a short nod before going over to hold her granddaughter.

Harry stood there, looking at his family and holding Ruth's hand. He was absolutely bursting with pride. His daughter was successful and loved and now a mother. His son had turned his life around and found it in him to forgive Harry for all the difficulty of the past. He had a perfect little grandchild on whom he planned to dote extensively. He had a mother of his own children who found the grace to be polite to him when he might not have really deserved it. And he had all of that, he knew, because he had Ruth.

"Happy, my love?" she asked quietly.

He turned to kiss her temple. "Immensely," he answered.


	31. Chapter 31

"Ruth?"

She mumbled incoherently, still mostly asleep. The sun was just starting to come up, and their bedroom was still mostly cloaked in darkness. But Harry was awake, early as always, and couldn't help but try to coax her into wakefulness.

"Ruth," he said again softly, nuzzling against her neck.

A little sigh fell from her lips. She rolled onto her back and stretched a bit. As she did, Harry climbed on top of her, straddling her hips and letting his hands slip under the hem of her sleepshirt. It always seemed to ride up during the night, something he greatly appreciated.

Ruth blinked awake and smiled, looking up into dark honey-hazel eyes. "Good morning, my love," she said hoarsely.

Harry's hands slid up her bare sides, tracing the curve from her hips to her trim waist and up to her breasts. "Happy Valentine's Day, darling," he said, leaning in to kiss her.

She took his dear face in her hands and kissed him back quite passionately. His tongue slipped into her mouth, making her moan with desire. She wiggled slightly under his body, arching out for more contact. But suddenly, she pulled away. "Harry, get off me," she instructed.

He immediately rolled back to his side of the bed. "What's wrong? What's going on?" he asked with concern.

Ruth turned to sit up on the side of the bed. "I got something for you. For today. I have to go change."

"Change?"

She turned back, blushing slightly. "You liked the lingerie I got for your birthday, so I wanted to do that again."

"The same?"

"No, it's new."

Harry felt a slight jolt in his groin. "Describe it to me," he asked breathily.

Ruth blushed brighter, but she saw that dark look in his eye. "Well, it's lace…"

"Pink?"

She frowned. "No, why?"

"It's Valentine's Day," he reasoned.

Ruth shook her head. "I would look hideous in pink. It's never been a good color on me."

"I seem to recall a pale pink jumper you once wore on the Grid."

She paused, thinking back. A pale pink jumper? When would she have…oh yes that's right. "Sam Buxton gave that to me for Christmas the first year I was at Five. I couldn't have worn it more than twice! How on earth do you remember that?"

He smiled. "I remember most things about you, darling. So you do look lovely in pink, but if you don't like it, don't bother. The lingerie you bought for me for today, it's red, then?"

"I couldn't wear red lingerie!" she protested.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Why ever not?"

Ruth turned all the way around and faced him, still sitting up while he was lounging on his side looking up at her. "Harry, I am not the sort of woman who wears lingerie at all, not before three months ago. And you think I can just jump right to _red_!?"

"I bought you that red dress in Rome. That was beautiful on you. You liked that."

"Yes, but that's a dress! Red lingerie is just so…provocative."

Harry furrowed his brow at her. "I'm fairly sure that's the point of any lingerie, red or otherwise."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You would laugh in my face if I tried to wear red lingerie. I haven't got that sort of…"

"Haven't got what?" he challenged, prepared to tell her exactly what he would do if she ever did wear red lingerie.

"I haven't got the sexuality for red lingerie," she confessed, turning back away from him and suddenly feeling like she didn't want to put on any lingerie at all ever again. Oh why must he always push her? Always the same, since the very first, he'd always pushed her outside her comfort zone and pushed her to do more and to be more. Perhaps Harry was never really satisfied with who she was and wanted her to be different. Whether or not that was his intent, that was certainly the effect of it.

Harry stared at her back in slight shock. She didn't think she had the… Oh that stupid woman of his. That brilliant, marvelous, stupid woman. He immediately scooted himself across the bed and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her down onto the bed and with her back flush up against his bare chest. She shrieked his name but otherwise did not protest. "Ruth, you want to know what I see when you wear red?"

"What?" she asked rather glumly.

He held her tight around her middle and spoke fervently into her ear. "I see the creamy pale softness of your skin against the bright red. It brings out the pinkness of your cheeks. The same pinkness that you get all over your chest when you're aroused. The red makes you stand out, makes you noticeable to anyone and everyone, makes me proud that others will see you and really take people's attention. You deserve all the attention in the world, if only so others can see what I already know, that you are beautiful and brilliant. When you wear red, Ruth, you stand differently. You have a power about you that makes my blood race. Makes it race through my beating heart and down to my cock because I can't help but want you. Red makes me think of the color of you when I'm between your legs and I've made you come against my mouth." He dragged his teeth against the tendon of her neck, making her shiver. But he pulled back and finished his impassioned speech. "Frankly, Ruth, I don't care what color you wear. I love you and want you no matter what. But don't ever think you haven't got the sexuality for anything. I assure you that you do."

Ruth swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded. "I…I didn't think it suited me."

"I think it very much does."

"Well, I'll…keep that in mind."

"Mmm, please do," he hummed, going back to kissing her neck. His hands loosened their grip on her only to pull her sleep shirt up again and wander her bare skin underneath. One hand crawled up to massage her bare breasts, her nipples already beginning to harden from his initial attentions. The other hand traveled down and dipped inside her knickers, seeking out her heat. She was barely wet, but he was just getting started.

"Harry…" she whined.

"Yes, Ruth," he answered, sinking his teeth into the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

"I've got to go change…the lingerie…" she stammered, whimpering from his eager advances. His fingers were tracing her folds and brushing up against her and she couldn't quite think straight.

"Save it for another day."

"It's supposed to be for a special occasion," she pointed out, gasping as his index finger dipped inside her.

"Being together is always a special occasion. Make next Thursday a special occasion. Surprise me," he growled, shifting his hips to rub his hardness against her bum.

"Harry?" she breathed.

"Yes, darling?"

"Take your pants off."

Harry chuckled and unhanded her for just a moment to kick off his trunks. While he did so, Ruth pulled off her sleepshirt and tossed her knickers off the end of the bed. When they were both bare, Harry pulled her back against him. She moaned at the feel of his hard cock pressed against her bum.

Ruth lifted her leg and moved it back over Harry's thigh behind her, opening herself for him. "Please, Harry," she begged, not wanting to wait another moment before he was inside her.

"Oh god, Ruth, I love you," he groaned, lining himself up at her entrance and pushing in swiftly.

She was trembling, already so close. Briefly, she gave thanks to his knee replacement, since they never could have made love in this position before. The pressure on his leg would have put him in agony. Not that the sex hadn't been incredible before, but there were so many more options now that Harry wasn't worried about being in pain. And Ruth had been the beneficiary of his ingenuity and experimentation.

He rocked against her, and she moved in time with his languid thrusts. His breath was hot against her neck. Harry's thick fingers found their way back down her body, lightly pinching her nipple and tracing her surgery scar and finally stroking her under her dark curls. Harry could feel himself moving inside her underneath his fingertips, and he moved faster to give her what she needed.

Ruth turned her head toward him and cried out his name as he built her higher and higher. He kissed her roughly, all tongue and teeth and bare longing. When she came, she spasmed in his arms and moaned into his mouth. Harry held her tight and sped up to chase his release right after her, finishing inside her with a loud groan of pleasure.

They fell away from each other, Harry on his back and Ruth on her front, both sweaty and gasping for air.

Before either of them could properly recover, a shrill chiming sounded from Harry's bedside table. "Christ!" he shouted, jolted out of his post-coital haze. "It's Catherine. Hang on, darling," he told Ruth, grabbing his phone and looking at it.

Ruth turned her head and saw the screen he was about to answer. "Harry, it's a video call!" she warned.

"Shit," he swore, having just touched the button. And before he knew it, there was his daughter's lovely face, smiling at him in the small screen.

"Hi, Dad!" she greeted brightly.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said in response, pasting a smile on his face.

Catherine frowned. "You alright? You look a bit odd."

"It's a little early. Haven't got up yet. But I didn't want to miss your call," he lied.

Ruth had scrambled out of bed to grab her sleepshirt. Harry could pretend he slept without a shirt—which he usually did—but if Ruth appeared with bare shoulders, their morning activities would be extremely apparent. Not something she and Harry wanted to let his daughter in on.

On the phone, Catherine continued dubiously, "Well, alright, sorry to wake you. Is Ruth there?"

Harry looked over to his lover, who was now somewhat clothed and crawling back into bed beside him. She took the phone to hold it between them so they'd both be visible. "Hi, Catherine!"

Catherine's eyes suddenly went wide and focused on a particular point. Ruth panicked for a moment and saw in the small front camera image what Catherine saw. A large purple welt was blooming on Ruth's neck from Harry's amorous efforts. Not to mention both their hair was mussed and their lips were swollen. Without a doubt, both Ruth and Harry looked thoroughly shagged.

Harry had the same realization that Ruth did. He tried to redirect everyone's attention. "It's lovely to hear from you sweetheart. How's Claire?" he asked with a smile. He was absolutely in love with his baby granddaughter. It was because of her that Catherine had started video calling twice a week, so Harry and Ruth could see the baby and hear all about her.

"Oh she's wonderful. Almost sleeping through the night, actually. I hear that's rather unusual, since she's only seven weeks old, but so long as I keep on schedule with the feedings and the naps, she seems to be doing quite well."

"Any more crying fits?" Ruth asked, remembering the last time Catherine had phoned and was crying herself because Claire had cried so hard, she spit up all over herself.

"No, she seems to be over that particular antic. But every day is a new adventure!" she said brightly.

"Can we see her?" Harry asked hopefully.

Catherine turned away from the phone for a moment and called, "Fabian! Can you bring Claire in? Dad and Ruth want to see her."

The French father of Harry's grandchild walked in carrying the beautiful little bundle. He placed the baby in her mother's arms and looked at the screen to say hello. He immediately started laughing. "A very happy Valentine's Day, I see!"

Catherine shoved him away. Ruth and Harry both blushed. They could still hear Fabian laughing in the background. But Catherine brought the focus back, tactfully ignoring her partner's teasing insinuations. "Here's our little one," she announced, tilting the camera to show Claire's round little face. She was gurgling and smiling, and her bright blue eyes were sparkling with joy.

"Her eyes haven't changed yet," Harry noted.

"I dunno if they will. Fabian's mother has blue eyes. But I suppose it can take a while."

Harry nodded. "You had blue eyes when I first met you. You were about that old, I think." He immediately regretting saying those words, reminding everyone involved what an awful father he'd been. Ruth put her hand on his arm and gave him a gentle squeeze of support and affection.

"Sure," Catherine replied dismissively. "But listen, there's something I wanted to ask you both. Today is Valentine's Day, obviously, and Fabian and I don't have anything planned. But we were hoping that maybe next Saturday, we could go out to dinner. She'll be two months old by then. And I haven't been away from her except to sleep and shower since the day she was born. So I thought maybe a night out for me and Fabian."

"That sounds like a very good idea," Harry agreed.

"So you'll babysit?"

"Oh!" Harry hadn't quite realized that's what she was saying. He turned to Ruth, who nodded with an excited grin. "Yes, we'd love to babysit!" he told Catherine.

The camera tilted back to Claire. Catherine's voice could be heard saying, "You hear that? Granddad and Nana Ruth are going to come babysit you! Won't that be fun?"

Harry wasn't sure what to expect, but upon first though, he thought yes, that would be fun.


	32. Chapter 32

At last, the crying had stopped. Harry felt like crying himself, at that point. Claire was finally soothed. She had taken the bottle Ruth had prepared. She was lying in Harry's arms and having her dinner as though she had not spent over an hour screaming bloody murder and making a horrific mess.

"Silence feels a bit strange," Ruth noted, returning to the living room where Harry was parked on the sofa. There was a wet spot on her blouse from where Ruth had rushed to the kitchen to clean the baby's spit up off of her. And, of course, that was after the rather messy task of changing a diaper, something Ruth had assumed would be simple. Needless to say, she was more than a little grateful for Claire's peace now.

"It's a blessed relief," Harry replied. He was not used to babies anymore. Though he hadn't really ever been used to babies, if he were honest. The endless squalling had never been anything he'd had much patience for with his own children. And now that he was old and grumpy anyway, he was even less equipped to deal with it.

Ruth sat down beside him and let out a heavy sigh. Her head fell back on the sofa. She hasn't been this exhausted in a long time. "Were your children ever this much trouble?" she asked, eyes closed.

Harry pursed his lips. "I don't know," he replied.

Immediately, Ruth put her foot in her mouth and tried to backtrack. "Well, perhaps we can just blame Claire's fussiness on Fabian. It feels like French DNA to cry and carry on like that."

Harry did laugh at that. Though he had a feeling that his own genetics were probably more to blame. After all, nothing about him was ever anything short of difficult. Surely every single one of his children's and granddaughter's negative traits were thanks to him.

"Don't let her suck on the empty bottle, Harry, it'll give her gas," Ruth warned, seeing that Claire had nearly finished her dinner. "I'll go get a dishrag and burp her." She hauled herself off the sofa feeling absolutely ancient beyond belief at the effort it took to do that. Though, she reasoned, she was far too old to be playing mother to an infant. Even if it was only for a few hours.

Harry put down the bottle and looked down at his happy smiling granddaughter. "Are you feeling better now, sweetheart?" he asked. "I know you miss your parents. I can understand that. They're lovely people. And being without them is so very new. Though I suppose everything is new for you. I'm a grandfather for the first time, but you're also a baby for the first time. We'll just have to muddle our way through as best we can, alright?"

Ruth returned and watched Harry murmur to Claire. He was so sweet with her. So patient and gentle. If she didn't love him already, Ruth would have fallen head over heels for this big, gruff man with his thick hands holding such a delicate little bundle. "Here, I'll take her," she offered.

Claire was gently passed from Granddad to Nana Ruth. The latter put the baby over her shoulder, resting against the dishrag, and patted and rubbed her back to dislodge any air bubbles they might make her uncomfortable. Ruth paced back and forth, gently rocking Claire in her arms.

Harry watched them with a distinct sense of awe. Ruth had certainly had some difficulty earlier—they both had, what with not knowing quite what to do with a baby and having that baby screeching for eighty minutes straight—but now, Ruth had Claire in her arms and took care of her as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Perhaps some women just had an innate sense about babies. A parental instinct that just whispered what to do. Harry hoped he had a small bit of that, but he also did live in a house when his children were babies. He hadn't spent nearly enough time with them, but he wasn't entirely clueless. Some things came back to him.

Ruth, though, she hadn't ever spent time with babies, as far as Harry knew. But she was so good with Claire. That was just Ruth, though. She was good with everything.

"You look quite...correct like that," he noted aloud.

"Well, I think I'm doing it right."

"No, I mean just sort of natural, I suppose."

Ruth hummed in response, a small smile playing over her features.

Harry had a thought that, for better or worse, he voiced. "Did you ever want a baby of your own?"

She frowned slightly. Harry had a right to be curious, particularly due to their present situation. But it was not really the sort of question a childless woman in her forties really likes to be asked. "I'd never really thought about it much when I was young," she said. "It was always sort of something that felt so far away, being married and having babies. I had the silly fantasies like many girls have, I'm sure, imagining a house with a manicured lawn, kissing my husband goodbye as he goes off to work and I put eggs on plates for the children before sending them off to school. But it never really seemed like a real possibility to me. And of course I was so focused on my studies at Oxford, and I was so pathetically shy at GCHQ, I only ever dated a handful of men and none of them were family man material. So I suppose I didn't really think much about having a family when I was young enough to have done it."

"That makes sense," Harry replied diplomatically. It made him sad, a bit, to be confronted with the loneliness and emptiness Ruth had suffered so much of her life. All because she never allowed anyone to get close enough to see how remarkable she really was. Or rather because no one had ever made the effort to try.

Ruth suddenly chuckled, remembering. "I did have a motherhood fantasy, actually. But I don't..." she trailed off, her expression suddenly going rather grave.

"Tell me," Harry requested softly.

She stopped rocking the baby and stood still. "It was silly, really," she said, speaking quietly and her eyes boring into his. "I had the most embarrassing crush on my boss. I was too young and plain and awkward to ever turn his head, I thought. But it didn't stop me from being madly in love with him and dreaming about having his babies one day. He became the man I imagined, kissing my cheek as I straightened his tie and ruffling the hair of our children as he hurried off to work each morning."

Ice took hold of Harry's heart. "Oh Ruth, I..."

But she just shook her head dismissively. "It was silly. I knew it was even at the thought of it back then. It was never going to be real for us."

"No, not for us," he agreed sadly.

"George wanted to have a baby with me," Ruth recalled. She'd never said that out loud to anyone before, ever. "We talked about it a lot. Fought about it, actually."

"Oh?"

"I refused. I didn't want to talk about it with him. I didn't want his baby. It was stupid, I know, but you know better than anyone what a stubborn mule I can be." Ruth gave a humorless laugh and went back to rocking little Claire.

"He was your husband, Ruth. Young and handsome and vital. Why didn't you want his baby?" Harry asked, hoping such a question did not push her too far.

But Ruth wanted to tell him. He deserved to know. After all, she was the one who had always made her life in Cyprus off limits to discussion. "I told George that Nico should be our priority. That we shouldn't ever try to replace him with a child of our own. But that wasn't the real reason. The real reason was you, Harry." Her voice cracked as she made her confession. "I still had that fantasy of having your children. And I didn't want to give that up. You were the only man I'd ever imagined having a family of my own with. And even when I thought I'd never see you again, I didn't want to give up that beautiful dream. It was a part of you that I held onto in order to keep my sanity. I kept my love for you deep in my heart, and when things became too much, I visited those dreams I knew could never come true."

Harry stared at her, watching her blink back tears. The lump that had formed in his throat prevented him from speaking. Though even if he could talk, he had no idea what he would say.

Ruth added, "It's always been you, Harry. Even when I had no business thinking such things. You're the only one I've ever really wanted. Only you."

"I'm so sorry, Ruth," he choked out. "I can't tell you how much I wish we could have lived that dream together."

"It was the dream of a young, naïve woman. And after everything, now, I'm much too old and too brittle to have such ambitions. After all, Harry, that was only ever a dream. What we have now, with our house and our pets and your granddaughter, this is real. This is our time, yours and mine. And even if we weren't too old to have babies now, I wouldn't want to give up our life for anything," she told him firmly.

"I wish I could give you everything you've ever wanted," he told her quietly.

Ruth let out a shaky breath. She thought about their life together in their house with the peeling green paint on the front door, how they had the freedom to travel and make love on the sofa in the middle of the day and stay up all night in the garden on hot summer nights sharing a bottle of wine. All things they couldn't do if they had a baby. If Harry had made her old fantasy come true and given her a child of their own, it would surely be wonderful, but very different than the life they'd made.

With her mind rather set, Ruth sat down beside Harry on the sofa and put Claire on her lap and snuggled up with Harry, turning to press soft kisses to his neck.

Harry smiled, feeling the festering regret loosen its hold over him. And then Ruth murmured in his ear, "Don't you know, my love? You have given me everything I've ever wanted." And then he felt like everything was all alright.


	33. Chapter 33

Ruth had never needed to stop him before. But he was going with such gusto, she couldn't keep up with him. She tugged on his hair with the last of her energy, pulling his head up from where it had taken residence between her thighs.

"Alright, darling?" he asked. His voice was husky with desire and his whole mouth was glossy from his exuberant attentions to her wet heat.

All Ruth could manage was to toss her head from side to side. She couldn't breathe or speak or even think. A hoarse sort of whimper fell from her lips.

Harry seemed to understand, thankfully. "A little rest, then," he conceded. But he could not bear to part from her. He still lay between her parted legs. He traced his hands up her hips to her waist and back down. He pressed gentle kisses to her belly, paying special attention to her fading scar. It had been over two years now since she'd been stabbed and they both abruptly left their life in the Security Services. The scar was certainly still visible but had lost all its pinkness. It was now only a silver line against her pale stomach.

Ruth let her body settle and relax amidst his gentler attentions. She turned her head toward her bedside table and saw that Harry had woken her less than an hour before. In less than an hour, he'd made her come an astounding five times. No wonder she felt overwrought. "Harry," she whined upon making that realization.

"Yes?" he replied, lifting his head up to look at her.

"I honestly think you nearly killed me."

He began to laugh, shaking both of them against the mattress. "Oh I don't know about that."

"Five times!" she pointed out. "And you've still got your pants on!"

"I didn't want to take my pants off. Too much temptation that way. And today is all about you, Ruth. It's a very special day. Perfect opportunity for me to shower you with affection."

"I think this goes far beyond mere affection. And if this is what you do in the forty minutes I've been awake, I shudder to think what you'll do for the rest of my birthday."

"You shudder, do you?" he asked naughtily, trailing his fingers on her overly-sensitive folds. He was rewarded with a high-pitched gasp at that.

"Too much, Harry!" she choked out.

"I won't apologize, but I will promise to let you recover. In fact, I won't make love to you until after dinner unless you want me sooner. Assuming you want me."

"Don't be daft, of course I want you!" she chided, nudging her face with her fingers.

"Good. Because I want to be able to give you a very happy birthday. Particularly on this special birthday." Harry grabbed the bedsheet he'd pushed off them earlier and wiped his face since he knew he wouldn't be going back down on her for now.

Ruth rolled her eyes. "Forty-three is hardly special."

"Any day we spend together is special if we want it to be. And forty-three is a prime number, so I think that counts as special."

She regraded him incredulously. "A prime number?"

Harry frowned. "Isn't it? I could have sworn that's what Malcolm said."

"No, you're right, it is a prime number. I just didn't think that would be something you'd remark on," she answered, now suddenly curious why he'd been talking about her birthday to Malcolm.

Harry climbed off her and sat up on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to have a quick cold shower and make breakfast for you. And you have a bit of a rest and if you're still here when the food's ready, we can eat in bed, alright?"

Ruth smiled. Breakfast in bed was positively decadent and having Harry snuggle with her while they had tea and eggs was just about the best thing she could have asked for on her birthday. "You're spoiling me," she said.

With a pleased little laugh, Harry leaned in to kiss her and whispered, "Yes, I am."

A little while later, Ruth sipped her tea as Harry finished eating his share of the French toast he'd prepared for them. He'd even lit a candle and put it in one of her slices and sang Happy Birthday to her when he came into the bedroom with the breakfast tray.

"Harry, you've done far too much already. This is the best birthday morning I've ever had," she told him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"This is just the beginning, darling. Lots more birthday fun coming for you later."

"Would you mind telling me so I know what to expect?"

He chuckled, knowing that Ruth wasn't a fan of surprises. Neither of them were, really, but they knew one another well enough that any surprises would be fun little things like this. For the most part, anyway. "I thought you might like to take a bubble bath with a nice book for a while. And after, we can go for a nice long walk with Edith, if you like. It's supposed to be a warm day, so it might be nice to spend it outside. But other than that, I don't actually have anything definitive planned till dinner. And for dinner, I'll need you to dress up a bit."

"How dressed up?"

"That green dress, I think, would be rather nice."

Ruth thought for a moment and remembered the spring green lace dress she'd bought on a whim during their spring holiday to Vienna. It wasn't a formal dress, so Harry surely wasn't planning anything too fancy for dinner. Though anything local would have to be rather casual anyway. Their tiny Suffolk town did not have much by way of glitz and glamour, which suited them just fine.

The day was leisurely and absolutely wonderful. Ruth took her bath and read a few chapters of Jane Eyre. Harry came into the bathroom at one point, saying that he'd missed her and wanted a kiss from the birthday girl. One kiss turned into a mighty snog session which ended when Harry nearly lost his balance and fell into the tub. Luckily he caught himself before that, and he practically scurried out of the room, leaving Ruth breathless and laughing.

They then went on their walk, enjoying the spring sunshine. Edith, now nearly fully grown, was excitedly frolicking along, stopping to sniff anything and everything, getting tangled in the lead, barking at squirrels, and leaving Ruth and Harry in near hysterics at her adorable antics.

"I think perhaps we should head back now," Harry grumbled at one point, good humor gone from being scared out of his wits when Edith lunged at a passing car and nearly escaped into the street.

"Yes, I think so. We probably should have done a better job training her," Ruth lamented. She wasn't very familiar with having a dog, so she hadn't really thought about what sort of dangerous mischief their puppy might get into.

"Now that the weather is getting better, I'll be able to walk her more regularly. It's been a long time since I trained a dog, but I certainly have more time now than I did with Scarlett all those years ago," he noted.

Ruth held his free arm and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I have no doubt you'll get Edith into that same military discipline," she teased.

As they walked back to their little house, Harry told Ruth all about the methods he'd used with Scarlett and his concerns about Edith, being so very sweet yet patently unintelligent. But he'd find a way to train her and, with enough dedication, hopefully they'd not have to worry about their precious dog leaping after cars while they were away over the summer. Harry had very special plans for the summer, after all.

Their walk had taken them much longer than anticipated, and they'd missed lunch. Harry made some light sandwiches for their tea, since breakfast in bed had been a long time before but they didn't want to spoil their dinner. They sat in the kitchen just as they would any other day. Noodles was purring on Ruth's lap and Edith was asleep in the corner, all tuckered out from her adventure.

The phone rang just as they were finishing. Harry did the washing up and let Ruth answer it.

"Hello?"

"Happy Birthday!"

She beamed with pleasure upon hearing the voice on the other end. "Thank you, Graham."

"So what's the old man done for you today?"

"We had breakfast in bed and I took a bubble bath and then we went on a long walk with Edith, and now we're just finishing tea."

"That's all?" Graham asked with an air of disappointment.

"We're going for dinner later tonight. I'm sure it will be lovely. I've had a wonderful birthday so far," Ruth assured him.

"Good. You deserve it. I hope he showers you with diamonds," he teased.

Ruth laughed, "I don't need diamonds, and don't give him any ideas. He already spoils me as it is."

"And he should spoil you, Ruth. He doesn't deserve you."

"Oh hush," she scolded. "No more of that. Harry and I deserve each other."

Graham then wisely changed the subject and told Ruth that he'd finally asked his coworker, Sharon, out for dinner the following weekend. He also said that when he visited Catherine the other day, Claire had rolled over for the first time. Apparently it was a very big deal.

Once Ruth got off the phone, Harry asked her what Graham had said. "What's this I hear about you not needing diamonds?"

"Oh, Graham said you should shower me with diamonds, and I told him not to be silly."

Harry frowned. "Diamonds aren't silly."

"No, but I don't need to be showered in them, Harry. You know it's not really my taste."

"But diamonds in less than a shower, perhaps?"

Ruth could tell by his insistence that he had, in all likelihood, gotten her some sort of diamond jewelry for a birthday gift. And despite the fact that she had no occasion or reason to wear fancy jewelry, she certainly wouldn't disappoint him. She would love whatever gift he'd given her, she was certain. "If you want, I could perhaps wear diamonds and nothing else sometime."

Harry's eyes went wide and he felt a jolt to his groin at the thought of Ruth glittering like a queen and splayed out naked before him. "Perhaps, yes," he choked out.

"I'm going to get ready for dinner now," she told him with a little laugh, leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs.

Getting ready took longer than Ruth expected. The phone rang a few more times as Catherine and Malcolm and Wes all called to wish her a happy birthday. Tim and Geoff from next door came over with a resplendent bouquet of flowers from Geoff's shop. Ruth was a bit overwhelmed by all the attention. She told Harry that she'd not had such a fuss over her birthday since she was ten years old.

"We have friends and family who love you, darling," Harry reminded her. "We've made a life here, a life where we don't have to hide or keep secrets or worry about who could be killed for knowing too much about us. And beyond that, Ruth, you're quite wonderful and I'm glad that people see it and treat you accordingly."

That little speech had earned Harry quite the affectionate kiss before he reminded her that they had a reservation and she was running late. She hurried back to the bathroom to finish her hair and makeup, swearing up a storm the whole way. Harry laughed delightedly as he tied his tie and went on a search for the shoes that matched his suit.

At last, they'd made their way to the restaurant. Ruth looked absolutely exquisite in her green dress and black high heels, her makeup done a bit more than usual, and her hair pinned up elegantly on top of her head. Harry could not take his eyes off her, and he told her how beautiful she looked. She smiled at the compliment and told him in turn how handsome he looked in his new suit. He'd lost quite a bit of weight after his knee replacement, so his old suits had to be retailored and he'd bought a newer one just for the occasion.

Harry had made reservations in the next town over at the only nice restaurant around—there were linen tablecloths, which made it the fanciest establishment within ten miles. The meal was elegant and delicious. The conversation was light and happy. The company was divine.

"Ruth, darling, if you don't mind, I thought we could have dessert at home. I've got a bit of a treat planned for us."

"Oh do you?" she asked, her eyes sparkling. Ruth assumed that dessert would be in bed and she herself would be on the menu for him.

"Yes, I do." He'd not spoil the surprise, let her think whatever she wanted. But he'd figured out some time ago how this would all go. It would be at home, it would be private just between the two of them, and it would be when they were both happy from a wonderful day. And Ruth's birthday certainly fit the bill.

Much to Ruth's surprise, after Harry paid the bill for dinner and drove them both home, he did not take her upstairs to their bedroom. Instead, he took her outside to the garden. It was a warm, clear night. Harry had set up a picnic blanket for them. He told her to sit down and get comfortable, perhaps remove her shoes, and he went into the kitchen to get their dessert.

They shared champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. The two of them went quiet after a while, looking out at their lovely garden in the gorgeous evening air and enjoying the nearness of the other.

"Ruth?"

"Yes, Harry?" she replied, looking away from the roses against the starry sky and turning toward his dear, sweet face.

"I've been thinking. For a while. About..."

As he trailed off, she looked closer at him in the dim moonlight. Something was clearly making him nervous. She hadn't seen him nervous like this in a long time. Perhaps not since he had asked her out for dinner on their first date. He'd rambled, she recalled. About Charlie Chaplin, bless him.

Harry began again, putting his hand in his pocket for the box he would present to her once he could get the bloody words out. He'd been practicing what he wanted to say for some time now, but of course it was all getting muddled now. "The first time I asked, I didn't actually ask you a question. Looking back on it, I realize I gave you something of an order. As a commanding officer. Not as a man who was madly in love with you. And I'm not your boss now, and I hope I never give you commands anymore."

"Not unless I want you to," she interjected, feeling her heart flutter in her chest, trying to lighten the mood for them both. If he was going to ask what it seemed like he was asking, she didn't want him to be full of regret or nervous about her response. This...if that's really what this was...should be a joyous moment for them both.

"When do you want me to command you to do anything?" he asked, losing his train of thought and suddenly worrying that he had behaved like some overbearing brute toward her without realizing it.

Ruth blushed slightly. "Well, it's usually in the context of some state of undress for us both..."

Ah yes, Harry understood now. She did sometimes like it when he was a bit forceful in their love life. His breath caught in his throat as he realized he had to get back to what he was saying. He'd lost it along the way.

"Sorry to interrupt," she apologized. "Go on with what you were saying."

"Well, now that I am thankfully no longer your boss and we are not living in a world of horror any longer, I think it's time for me to ask a proper question."

Harry hoisted himself up, pulling the box out of his pocket and kneeling on one knee in front of her.

"Ruth Evershed, my darling, beautiful, wonderful Ruth, I love you more than words. Sharing a life with you these last two years has been more than I ever dreamed possible. And no matter what your answer, I will continue to love you and live this life with you for as long as you want me." He opened the box to reveal an exquisite platinum ring with three pear-shaped sapphires surrounded by brilliant little diamonds.

Ruth was stunned by the exquisite beauty of the ring. She stared at it for a moment, jaw dropped slightly in disbelief. But then she realized that Harry had gone quiet. She looked back up at him as he watched her expectantly. "Harry, you haven't asked me a question yet," she pointed out. Her voice was strained from emotion. There was a lump in her throat that she tried to swallow away.

"Ruth, will you marry me?" he asked simply and quietly.

She gazed into his eyes and saw the light and love she felt reflected back at her. "Yes, Harry, I will marry you," she replied. The tears began to fall as she laughed, unable to keep the immense emotion away.

Harry beamed brilliantly as he took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her elegant finger. He didn't even give her a chance to look at it properly before he gathered her into his arms and kissed her with everything he had.

They fumbled about with buttons and zips and peeled layers of clothes off each other and made love on the picnic blanket in their garden. Ruth had never done anything like that before, but she could not allow the moment to pass them by. She needed, more than anything else, to make sure that Harry knew how fully and completely she loved him, how much she trusted him and needed him and desired him, how eager she was to marry him.

As he moved inside her, Harry was nearly in tears with the glory of the moment. Ruth was softly moaning his name and proclaiming her love for him. He could not form words or make any sound except some grunts and groans from the exertion. Her walls clenched and pulsed around his cock and he spilled inside her before collapsing onto his back and pulling Ruth with him.

"I'm very much looking forward to being your wife, Harry," she murmured, tracing patterns on his bare chest.

"And I'm very much looking forward to the privilege of being your husband, Ruth," he replied.

"You've been planning this for a long time, haven't you?"

"Yes," he told her. "I made such a mess of it last time. And things are so different now. I wanted to give you a wonderful day and finish it just like this. And actually, it was something that inspired me to work harder on my recovery."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to be able to get down on one knee when I proposed to you."

Ruth kissed his neck. "You are so lovely."

He grinned happily. "I do try for you, my darling." Harry took her left hand and kissed her fingers. "You like the ring? If you don't, I won't be offended. I can get you something else."

She gazed at the engagement ring, seeing how is sparkled even with just the moonlight. "It is absolutely perfect, Harry. It's unique and beautiful and not too much at all."

"You were worried I'd get you some gaudy Elizabeth Taylor-sized monstrosity?"

"Honestly, yes, I did worry you might get a bit out of hand with it. If you ever did propose with a ring."

"Of course I'd propose with a ring, what do you take me for?"

"You didn't last time," she foolishly reminded him.

"If I had, would your answer have been different?"

She frowned, not liking to reexamine their painful past. But she wouldn't do him the disservice of brushing him off. "Maybe. If you'd had a ring, it might have been an indication that you were serious, that you hadn't just asked me in the spur of the moment because Ros's funeral depressed you."

Harry hummed rather unhappily.

"But," Ruth continued, "I do think that if I had said yes then, we wouldn't have survived. Either we would have broken up before we even got to a wedding or else we'd be lawfully husband and wife when one or both of us was killed. We couldn't have been together in those days, Harry. Not properly. Not like now."

He did not want to argue with her, and he recognized—even if he didn't want to—that she was probably right. "No, not like now," he eventually agreed.

Ruth sat up, pushing her hair out of her face from where it had fallen from its pins. She straddled Harry's lap and caressed his cheeks and ears and leaned down to kiss him. "I suppose now we should think about planning a wedding."

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her against him. "How does June sound?"


	34. Chapter 34

"Stop watching me," Harry grumbled. He didn't even look up when he heard Ruth's lovely laugh. He was trying to concentrate and her presence was very distracting.

"I like watching you," she replied playfully. Ruth made her way from the doorway to the study and behind where Harry sat at the desk. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed the side of his neck.

Harry hummed in pleasure and grabbed her left hand to kiss her ring finger, clad in the exquisite diamond and sapphire engagement ring he'd put there. "You're interrupting," he chastised.

"I'm sorry," she replied with another kiss. "How's it going?"

He sighed, "Fine, I think. This book is giving me a bit more trouble than the others."

"Why's that?"

"Vienna was a wonderful trip. There's so much to see there, with all the imperial history and music and art and everything, but I don't know that I have anything special to say about it. We mostly stuck to proper touristy things during our trip."

"Did you write about the opera? That was a wonderful night," she recalled, thinking back to the absolute privilege of going to the Vienna State Opera for the opening of Tosca. Harry had gotten a new tuxedo and arranged for Ruth to rent the most exquisite silver Chanel gown with jeweled embroidery all over the tulle overlay. She had felt like a goddess, and Harry's proud smile of getting to escort her for the evening was something she would never forget.

Harry hummed again. "I might add a bit more to that section. I'll finish the edits of our wine tasting tour and then go back to see what I did for the opera."

Ruth could see he was committed to getting his work done that day. "You go right ahead, my love. And you can meet me in the bedroom later."

He felt her kiss him one last time and walk out of the study. He had not fully listened to what she'd said, he was so focused on his book. But about two minutes later, her words caught up with him. _Meet me in the bedroom_ , she'd said. Oh he certainly would.

And sure enough, Ruth was lying on top of their bed with the sheets drawn. She was wearing purple lace lingerie and a smile. "Sorry to tear you away from your edits."

Harry swallowed hard, his eyes drinking in the exquisite picture she presented. "This is better," he assured her.

She laughed, "And now who's watching who?"

But he could not even pretend to apologize. She looked so beautiful in that royal purple color. The sheer lace of the knickers left her on full display, and the bra was some sort of high-necked halter with a cutout showing off the flawless pale valley between her breasts. Finally, his gaze made its way up to her face. "What occasion do I have to thank for this beautiful gift?"

"I bought this for Valentine's Day, but we never really got to it. And you said to surprise you on another day. So now it's a Tuesday and I was a bit bored and I wanted to show my fiancé that I love and adore him. I certainly hope he likes what he sees," she teased.

"Oh he likes it very much," Harry growled. He immediately pulled his shirt off over his head and climbed onto the bed to join her.

Ruth laughed at Harry's immediate enthusiasm, a sound that made his heart sing. He pulled her into his arms and held her on top of him and kissed her till her giggles turned into moans of pleasure. His hands moved down her back to caress the purple lace covering her bum, feeling and squeezing the fabric over her flesh. He eventually slipped his hands beneath the waistband and pushed the knickers down her legs.

They rolled over on the bed with Ruth on her back. She kicked her knickers off and spread her legs for Harry to settle between. He peppered kisses on the skin exposed by the fancy bra. Ruth ran her fingers through his sparse hair and sighed happily. One of his hands wandered down to trace her folds. She wasn't quite wet enough yet, but Harry had no doubt he could fix that for her. He lifted his head to gaze at her serenely happy face. "I love you," he whispered, brushing his lips lightly against her chin and jaw. Ruth just smiled in response and gasped as his thumb pressed firmly on her sensitive nub.

He moved back down to her breasts, still encased in sheer purple lace. Harry's tongue traced her hardened nipples through the fabric, and Ruth arched her back to increase the contact. His free hand reached behind her to unhook the bra and bare her to him.

But there were no hooks. His hand searched the band and even up behind her neck. He lifted himself up a bit to see if there was a front clasp he missed. "Ruth?"

It took her a moment to realize he'd stopped what he was doing. "Hmm?" she replied, opening her eyes. She asked, "Harry, what's wrong?" upon seeing the confused look on his face.

"How d'you get this thing off?"

Ruth could not help laughing. "Oh it just comes off over my head. Here, hang on." She sat up and started to pull the bra off of her. The band stretched easily, but the problem came with the halter around her neck. "Wait…how about…" she muttered, putting the bra back on and pulling at the neckband. She huffed in frustration.

Now it was Harry's turn to laugh. "How the hell did you get it on?"

"I don't know!"

It didn't take them long to be completely tangled in the bra. "Ruth, stop wiggling, let me take care of this," he insisted.

Neither of them was laughing anymore. Ruth sat there on the bed, naked except for the stupid bra they couldn't seem to take off her, feeling more and more frustrated and helpless with each passing second. All feeling of arousal had completely left her. "I'm sorry, Harry," she mumbled. "I thought it would be fun and…sexy." Her face felt hot with embarrassment and all she wanted to do was bolt out of the room and hide somewhere by herself.

"Ruth…dammit," he swore, pulling a bit of her hair and causing her to yelp. "You looked incredible, darling, honestly. Very sexy." Harry paused what he was doing to kiss her blushing cheek. "But this is quite possibly the least sexy thing we've ever done while you're half-naked."

She swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "Perhaps we should just forget it for now."

But Harry would not be deterred. "I loved you for seven years before we ever got to have sex. A bit of trouble with a bloody bra isn't going to stop me now!" And with a fit of frustration, Harry ripped the lingerie to pieces and freed her from its confines. "There we are," he stated triumphantly.

Ruth stared at the tattered lace in slight horror. "Harry!"

"Well, we got it off you, at least. Now, where were we?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

He leaned in to take her back into his loving arms, but she dodged him. "I don't think this is such a good idea anymore." She got up from the bed and grabbed her dressing gown before rushing out of the bedroom.

Harry fell back onto the bed, feeling utterly defeated and guilty beyond belief. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the look on her face. Obviously he'd upset her…but perhaps it was just the stupid situation that had ruined her mood. Harry really didn't think it was all that much to worry about, but Ruth tended to be sensitive over things sometimes, in ways he still couldn't quite predict. Perhaps in a way she herself couldn't predict. He would need to apologize to her, see if she'd talk to him about it. Whatever it was, he wanted to be sure it wouldn't happen again.

There was slight movement beside Harry on the bed and then suddenly there was a rather fluffy weight curled up on his chest. He sighed. "Hello, Noodles." The cat began to purr, and Harry hoped he wouldn't start kneading his bare chest. Even if he had a shirt on, those claws hurt like the dickens.

When Ruth had left the bedroom, her instinct was to shut herself in the bathroom and cry. But she really didn't want to do that. She didn't want to let herself stoop that low. So instead, she bundled herself in the dressing gown and went downstairs. She found Edith napping in Harry's chair. With a small smile, she picked up the dog and sat down to let Edith settle in her lap. Immediately, the beagle started to lick her hand, a sensation that always tickled a bit more than Ruth would have expected. "You are a sweet little thing," she murmured, scratching Edith's ears with her free hand. "You haven't got an ounce of shame in you, have you? You don't care if you look foolish. You don't mind looking silly. You don't get embarrassed ever. Harry says its because you're not very smart, but I don't think that's true. Just because you don't train easily doesn't mean you aren't smart. You're just a bit stubborn, aren't you? That's alright. I am, too. Stubborn mule, Harry once called me. I get a bit grumpy and sad when I don't get my way. But you just wag your tail and give kisses and just bring everyone joy, don't you, Edith?"

Right on cue, Edith's tail began to thump against the arm of the chair and she smiled up at Ruth's face. And before she knew it, Ruth was chuckling and grinning and kissing the puppy's snout.

"Alright, I'd better go see Harry. You stay down here. Sorry to interrupt your nap, but thank you for cheering me up," she cooed, getting up again and putting Edith back on the chair.

She went to go wash her hands of the puppy slobber before heading back upstairs to apologize for acting like such a lunatic earlier. Ruth twisted her engagement ring on her finger. It was a nervous habit akin to wringing her hands, but the ring's significance somehow made her feel a bit better. Harry loved her. Harry wanted to marry her. They were going to be together for the rest of their lives. And she had sapphires and diamonds to prove it.

Ruth returned to their bedroom to see Harry just where she left him, lying rather sadly in the middle of their bed. But now, he had an orange ball of fur resting on him. One of his big, weathered hands was lazily stroking the cat's back. Ruth could hear him purring all the way from the doorway. "I'm glad to see my men are relaxing," she said softly.

Harry lifted his head immediately, but did not get up, fearing the consequences of disturbing the cat. Ruth came to his rescue, swiftly lifting Noodles and depositing him outside the bedroom and closing the door so he didn't come back in. Harry sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands.

Without a word, Ruth came to sit in the middle of the bed, folding her legs beneath her. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she apologized immediately.

He shook his head. "I'm the one who should apologize. I was insensitive and…" Harry trailed off. He had a feeling he was supposed to apologize, but he honestly wasn't sure what for.

Ruth just sighed and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "I'm still not very good at having fun, I suppose. I want to. And I am trying. I'm just…not good at it."

Harry held her tight. "Darling, you know you don't have to try to be anything but yourself. We do perfectly alright just as we are."

"You deserve better," she confessed.

"Hardly," he laughed humorlessly. "I rather think it's you who deserves better than an old grumpy sod like me. But regardless of what either of us deserves, Ruth, we're here together. We're going to get married. And we'll figure things out, just as we always have," he promised.

Ruth breathed in the smell of him, mingled with a bit of lingering cat hair, and exhaled deeply, trying to let go of all the silly insecurities that still plagued her. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

She pulled back from his embrace and boldly untied her dressing gown. "Will you make love to me now?"

He smiled softly at her, his eyes darkening as her body was revealed to him once again. "Nothing would make me happier."


	35. Chapter 35

Ruth was chopping vegetables for dinner with her brow furrowed and her lips pursed in some sort of annoyance, Harry thought. She often would hum or sing a little while she cooked, but she was noticeably quiet this evening. Harry wasn't quite sure whether he should press her for what was wrong or if he was supposed to already know.

As she felt Harry watch her, Ruth herself tried to focus on the carrots so she wouldn't slice her finger—which she'd done before when agitated and not paying attention to what she was doing.

"Something wrong, darling?" he finally asked.

She paused, not quite knowing how to respond. "Not really wrong but..."

Harry crossed the kitchen to stand closer to her. "Yes?"

"I was thinking about our wedding."

"Oh I should hope there's nothing wrong about that."

"No," she assured him with a small smile. "But I was trying to think of where we could do it. We could just go to the registry office and then have a luncheon after or something but I...well, I sort of thought a church might be nice."

"I'm not opposed to the idea. Did you think I would be?" he asked, concerned at why her suggestion of a church wedding should cause her such hesitation.

"Well neither of us is religious, so it might take some doing."

He scoffed, "I'm a knight of the realm, Ruth, I can get some minister to let us use his church."

"Or her church," she corrected sharply.

Ah yes, Ruth and her feminism. "Of course," he placated.

She nodded and went back to her carrots, face still just as troubled as before.

Harry took the knife out of her hand. "Stop that for now. There's something else. What is it?"

Her face was filled with a trepidation that reminded him of days gone by, and he didn't like it one bit. He wracked his brain, trying to think of what might still be bothering her.

"You already have a church in mind," he surmised, feeling as though that must be the cause of her worry.

Ruth nodded. "I've got no right to ask you, but it keeps popping into my head."

"I probably can't book us at Westminster Abbey, but I can't imagine there's any other church you should be worried about."

"Ros's church," she said quietly.

That caught him off guard. What was Ros's...oh yes of course. "Where we attended her funeral," he realized.

She nodded again, wringing her hands anxiously. "Yes. And I know there's not really any good feeling associated with it, what with the funeral and the..."

"Disastrous proposal, yes," he interjected darkly.

"I know, it was a stupid suggestion." Ruth turned away to go back to her task.

Harry caught her hand again. "Come here, let's talk about this, please."

"There's nothing to talk about," she replied, brushing off his concern. Ruth suddenly felt very foolish for even having considered it to begin with. She wasn't even sure why it kept popping into her mind, that little church. It had been one of the most quietly sad days of her life, attending Ros's funeral. But even so, the setting had been very beautiful in its understated quaintness; not too big or too small, not too flash or too rundown, not too close to the city but not too far from civilization. And when she pictured marrying Harry, she imagined herself walking down an aisle with a simple bouquet of flowers, seeing him stand at an altar and smiling softly at her, sunshine trickling through stained glass windows in a slightly drafty old building. She pictured Ros's church. But she shook her head and insisted,"We can't get married there. It wouldn't be right. Forget I said anything."

He watched her carefully, trying to read the flurry of emotions on her lovely face. "You can see us there, can't you? Getting married in that church," he asked softly.

"Yes," she answered, only being mildly surprised at this point when Harry seemed to be able to read her mind. "But we should be married somewhere we both want to be."

"Who says I don't want to be there?"

"Well after..."

Harry cut off her excuse. "Ruth, I asked you to marry me nearly four years ago, and you very correctly said no. But I asked you to marry me three weeks ago, and you magnificently said yes."

"Things are different now."

"Exactly. Things are very different now," he agreed. "And after all this time, I think I would like to go back to that church. We should at least see it, and then we can decide."

Ruth's face lit up with hope. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Besides," he added, "I think I'd like Ros at our wedding. In a way."

She placed a caring hand on his arm. "I know she became very important to you."

"Yes, she was. Not sure how it happened, actually, but after we lost Adam and especially after everything with Connie, I think Ros somehow became my best friend."

Ruth had to smile at that. It made complete sense. Malcolm was Harry's brother. Ruth herself was Harry's lover. But Ros...yes, Ros Myers might well have been Harry's best friend for a time. She shared Harry's ruthless yet righteous point of view. She had always done what needed to be done and wanted to do what as right. She may not have been on the mark every time, but she was smart and she had integrity. Ruth had never quite gotten close to Ros after she returned to the Grid, but she liked to think that if Ros hadn't died, they might have gotten to be something like friends eventually. Their mutual—though very different—love of Harry would likely have seen to that.

"Let's go down at the weekend. See if it's what you're imagining, see if we like it. At the very least, we can make some better memories there," Harry suggested.

Her eyes twinkled knowingly. "Is that your subtle way of saying we're going to have a snog in the fields?"

"Well it's not the worst idea," he replied with a smirk.

Ruth leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Harry," she murmured.

He turned and lightly brushed his lips on hers. "Anything for you, darling."

She smiled and buried her face in his neck holding him close. They stayed in their quiet embrace for a moment. Ruth murmured against his skin, "I love you very much."

Harry held her tight and just hummed happily. That was all he needed to know.

Ruth pulled away eventually and went back to making dinner. Harry went to open a bottle of wine for them to share and handed her a glass.

"So at our little church wedding, are you going to wear some beautiful white gown covered in lace and beading and whatever else wedding gowns have?" he asked.

She gave an incredulous sort of laugh. "Do I really seem like the princess white ballgown sort of woman?"

"Well it's your wedding day, you should get to wear whatever you want," he reasoned.

"I have never and will never want to wear some puffy white dress. I'd end up looking like a pavlova rather than a bride."

Harry had to laugh at that. "I suppose so. Then what are you going to wear?"

"I don't really know, actually. What are you going to wear?"

"Well the morning coat is traditional, but if you don't want to go so formal, I thought I'd just wear a suit. Maybe have one of my old ones retailored, since they're much nicer than the new ones."

A small smile tugged at Ruth's lips. "Have you got any waistcoats? You always looked so dashing in your three-piece suits and the braces."

"Oh you liked that, did you?"

"Mmm, yes. That was the Section Head Harry Pearce I fell in love with, after all. I much prefer the writer/gardener Harry I've got now, but it's sometimes nice to remember where we started. Way back then before everything went to hell."

"Indeed," he agreed. "I'm happy to relive our early days just as long as you don't start wearing that god-awful lipstick again."

"What god-awful lipstick!?"

Harry could picture it in his mind and smiled, remembering how young and naive and odd Ruth once was. "It was some sort of berry color, I think. And it was quite pretty on its own but it looked horrid with the clothes you used to wear. Distracted me for all the wrong reasons."

"What would the right reasons have been?"

"Oh you distracted me constantly, Ruth. The creamy look of your skin. The way your lips were shaped. The sparkle in your eyes when you'd smile at something foolish Danny said. The curve of your bum when you were rushing to and from the registry."

She laughed, "My goodness you were certainly taken with me."

He smiled at her softly. "Yes, I was. Still am. Always will be. That's why I want to marry you."

Ruth sighed happily. "If you keep up with those honeyed phrases of yours, I'll never get this dinner on."

"Alright, I'll leave you be for now. But only because we should eat to keep up our strength for when I shag you senseless later tonight."

"Is that a promise?"

"A guarantee, darling."


	36. Chapter 36

Ruth was getting dressed in one of the anterooms of the church. Her maid of honor was gleefully assisting. "Thank you for holding my shoe, Claire," she said, removing the white satin high heeled pump from the six-month-old's baby hands.

Catherine sat with her little daughter on her lap, keeping Ruth company. "Are you excited? Nervous?"

"Both, actually. I'm not sure why," Ruth confessed.

"It's your wedding day!" Catherine reminded her.

Ruth smiled softly. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"And that's very exciting! You and Dad are perfect together. I know you haven't got doubts after living with him for going on three years. So why are you nervous?"

"No, I don't have doubts, of course not. I love Harry more than anything. We've got a life together. And a family," Ruth added, smiling at Catherine and at Claire. "But this is just such a big event. Harry and I have never had an event before, where we're the center of attention. I was away, you know, when he was knighted."

"I'm sure he'd have loved to have you there."

"I'd have loved to have been there. He does do formal extremely well. Unfortunately the first time I ever saw him in a tuxedo was when we had to do our spook thing with some Russian diplomats." Ruth frowned, not having any fond memories over the terror and torment brought by the Gavriks' visit to London.

Catherine saw Ruth's expression change and stood up, holding Claire on her hip. "Alright, whatever you're thinking about, you stop it. This is a happy day full of happy things. And I know you don't like a fuss being made about you, but you're the bride, and that's the rule."

Ruth sighed in good-natured resignation. She handed her necklace, the one Harry had given her to match her engagement ring, to Catherine to help her out on. She took the baby in her own arms and kissed her chubby pink cheeks.

"You are so good with her, honestly," Catherine noted. "And she absolutely adores you. Don't tell anyone I said this, but Claire gets on better with you than she does with my mum."

"I suppose she takes after Granddad that way," Ruth quipped. That made Catherine laugh. "And I'm glad she likes me. That's why I wanted her to be my maid of honor."

In another part of the little church, Harry was pacing back and forth. His best man was sitting patiently nearby.

"Harry, you're fit enough as it is, you don't need to exercise while waiting for the ceremony to start."

The nervous groom rolled his eyes and stopped walking around and leaned against the wall. "I don't like waiting," he grumbled.

"Yes, I know," Malcolm replied.

A knock came at the door, and Harry called for the visitor to enter. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Harry actually smiled. "No, not at all, come in."

Graham walked in and went right up to his father, and the two men embraced warmly. Harry felt a lump form in his throat, for he had never believed that such a thing could be possible. But he quickly gave a little cough to hide his emotion.

"Good of you to come."

"Of course! Ruth would have killed me if I missed it. And so would Cat and probably you, too."

"Yes, probably. But I am glad you're here, regardless."

Graham smiled at his father and looked him up and down. "Nice suit. Not like ones I remember you wearing," he remarked.

Harry nodded. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit—rather than pale gray or black—and it was complete with the three-piece waistcoat that Ruth had mentioned she liked on him. He even bought new braces to match. The tie had been one he and Ruth picked out together. She had gotten the idea for the flowers she wanted and planned the whole wedding around that. "Ruth likes it," Harry told Graham simply.

"And what's she wearing, then?"

"No idea. She wouldn't let me see it. And actually, she bought it in London with Catherine and made her keep it at her house rather than ours so I wouldn't be able to snoop."

"She's a clever one."

"That she is. All I know is that it isn't too formal and she will not be looking like a pavlova."

Graham laughed, suddenly picturing Ruth in some white monstrosity and looking like a giant meringue. "Well we can all look forward to seeing her. But I should get back to Sharon. You can meet her after. Ruth was right about her, I did need to take the risk."

"Ruth is usually right about most things. And she's the least risk-taking person I know, so if she tells you to go for it, you know she means it."

"She's not taking a risk today,"Graham pointed out.

"Maybe she is. I'm not the surest bet in the world. I'm afraid she's getting the bad end of the bargain."

"I doubt Ruth sees it that way, Harry," Malcolm chimed in.

"And she sure loves you," Graham added.

Harry smiled, feeling himself grow warm all over. He was getting married. To _Ruth_! It was years in the making and the day had finally arrived and all he could focus on was the absolute joy he felt at the prospect of marrying this woman he adored. Even if there was a small voice in the back of his head warning him that something might still go wrong and Ruth might come to her senses and bolt for the door, leaving him heartbroken as she had the last time they attended a service in this church.

But of course, nothing tragic happened in the twenty minutes Harry spent waiting. The minister—a woman, to Ruth's absolute joy—came to collect him when it was time. Harry waited in the back as Malcolm walked down the aisle first to the Bach concerto that Harry had selected. He watched his friend fidget a bit uncomfortably as the crowd of people all watched him. It wasn't much of a crowd, less than fifty total, but it was much more of a showing than Harry could have ever expected. They really had created a new life for themselves. Wes Carter was the only person from their old life, other than Malcolm, who had been invited, but Wes was on holiday with his grandparents in Spain and couldn't attend the wedding. Everyone else seated in the pews were friends that Harry and Ruth had made since leaving Five. Their neighbors in Suffolk, Ruth's university friends, Harry's editor and publisher. He smiled pleasantly at all the kind, familiar faces as he walked down the aisle to take his place at the altar.

Catherine came down the aisle next, carrying the maid of honor. Claire was babbling happily. She was a beautiful baby, and Harry loved her so much he thought he might burst. After the first disastrous evening watching her, every interaction Harry and Ruth had only since had happy, fun experiences with their grandchild. And they were both overjoyed to have her as a part of their wedding. The crowd laughed and aw'ed at the adorable baby.

The music changed to the Wedding March, which Ruth admitted she hated but would have felt odd walking down the aisle to anything else. Everyone stood and turned to see the bride. Harry felt his jaw drop. Ruth wasn't wearing a wedding gown, but instead a beautiful skirt suit of white silk. The skirt flowed around her legs with a feminine swish. The jacket was perfectly tailored to show off her slim figure and highlight the curves of her body. It was cut low enough to show off the exquisite diamond and sapphire necklace Harry had bought for her, that nestled just above the valley between her breasts. Her hair was softly curled around her shoulders, and she wore a small, delicate hat that matched her satin shoes. She carried a bouquet of lily of the valley, bluebells, and lavender. The colors matched the blue and purple tie that Harry wore with his suit. But the most remarkable think about the bride's appearance was the brilliant smile on her face. Harry had never seen a more incredible sight in all his life.

The music faded away as Ruth took her place beside him. "Hello," she whispered.

"You look beautiful," he murmured in her ear. He smiled at the way she blushed.

The minister began the ceremony, and Harry barely heard a word of it. He just still could not get over that this was real, that he was actually marrying the love of his life. He tried to remember if he'd told Ruth, that she was the love of his life. Surely she knew anyway. But one thing Harry had learned in their life together, in looking back at the mistakes of their rocky beginning, was that Ruth liked to be told, liked to hear him say the words, even if she already knew. They didn't need the words. They never had. But they were still nice to hear.

Ruth handed her bouquet to Catherine, who deftly kept it out of Claire's hands and mouth, and turned to face Harry and take his hands. They gazed into each other's eyes as they repeated after the minister, reciting their vows. It was a fashionable thing, they'd been told, for couples to write their own vows. But both Ruth and Harry were far too private for a public display of their feelings. No, the traditional would be best.

Before they knew it, they were exchanging rings. Ruth's was a simple band of platinum and inlaid diamonds. Harry's was a matching plain platinum band. Ruth thought she heard his voice catch just a bit when he said, "With this ring, I thee wed."

Their first kiss as husband and wife was by far the most triumphant, beautiful thing in the world for them both. Everyone was cheering and applauding and Ruth could hardly even kiss him, she was smiling so much.

Harry pulled away, beaming from ear to ear. He offered his arm, saying, "Lady Pearce?"

Ruth laughed, curling her hand on his elbow. "Thank you, Sir Harry."

The newlyweds had a few moments to themselves, smiling and kissing and feeling delirious with joy. They didn't speak at all. But they both kept looking at their left hands, admiring the rings they'd finally gotten to put there.

Everyone reconvened soon after at a nearby restaurant that Harry had rented out. Catherine and Fabian greeted them first as they arrived. "You two looked so perfect and wonderful!" she gushed. "I could hardly keep from crying!"

"Any thought to you two getting married?" Harry asked.

"I thought you said it didn't matter if we were married or not," Catherine scolded.

"It doesn't. But I must say, I'm much more in favor of marriage now than I used to be," he replied.

Catherine laughed, "Oh gee, I wonder why."

Ruth had found Graham and his girlfriend, Sharon. He congratulated the bride, and Sharon was extremely polite and kind. Ruth noticed the way she watched Graham, the way her attention was simply drawn to him at all times. It reminded her of the way she'd been with Harry on the Grid all those years ago.

Once everyone was seated at their tables, the best man stood up for his toast. Malcolm had a few pages in front of him and began to read his remarks. "Harry once told me that I had the proper poem for any occasion, and since I myself am not gifted with words of my own, I thought to use my talent for using the words of others. The problem is, Ruth and Harry aren't really the type to be summed up with just one poem. I'll tell you, I had a devil of a time trying to find what might be appropriate for their wedding toast. And I'm afraid I could only narrow it down to three.

"Now, this first one is I think most fitting because our Ruth is a Classics expert, and as you all may know, both Ruth and Harry have spent quite a bit of life caught between love and war. And not to mention that Harry once gave this book to Ruth for her birthday. I recite for you all now, Book One, Elegy Nine of Ovid's Amores, entitled 'Love is War':

Every lover's in arms, and Cupid holds the fort:  
Atticus, believe me, every lover's in arms.  
The age that's good for war, is also right for love.  
An old soldier's a disgrace, and an old lover.  
That spirit a commander looks for in a brave army,  
a lovely girl looks for in a love partner.  
Both keep watch: both sleep on the ground,  
one serves at his lady's entrance, the other his general's.  
A long road's a soldier's task: but send the girl off,  
and a restless lover will follow her to the end.  
He'll go against mountains and bend into stormy rivers,  
he'll push his way through swollen snowdrifts,  
he'll not rely on excuses, like angry northerlies,  
or waiting for suitable stars to take to the waves.  
Who but a soldier or lover could endure  
cold nights or dense snow mixed with rain?  
One's sent out to spy on attacking forces:  
the other keeps eye on his rival, his enemy.  
This one lays siege to strong cities, that one his harsh friend's  
entrance: one breaks down gates, the other doors.  
Often it helps to attack a sleeping enemy,  
and strike the unarmed mass with armed hand.  
That's how Rhesus and his fierce Thracians were killed  
and forfeited the leader's captured mares.  
Lovers, for sure, will make use of a husband's sleep  
and employ their arms while the enemy slumbers.  
Getting past watchman's hands, and enemy sentinels  
is work for soldiers and wretched lovers.  
Mars is chancy, Venus uncertain: the fallen can rise again,  
while those you think could never be thrown are beaten.  
So if you've called all lovers idlers, forget it.  
Love is all experience and ability.  
Great Achilles burns for stolen Briseis –  
while you can Trojans, smash the Argive wall!  
Hector went into battle from Andromache's arms,  
it was the wife who placed the helmet on his head.  
The great lord Atrides, they say, seeing Cassandra  
that Trojan Maenad, was enraptured by her flowing hair.  
Mars too, surprised, felt the blacksmith's chain mesh:  
there was never a greater scandal in heaven.  
I myself was lazy and born to idle leisure:  
bed and shade both softened my mind.  
Love for a lovely girl soon drove the idler  
and ordered him off to earn his pay in camp.  
Now see me, active and fighting nocturnal wars.  
If you don't want to be idle, fall in love!"

There were a few chuckles in the crowd at that. Harry, still holding his bride's hand, gave her a smile and a gentle squeeze. He recalled how, when they had first retired from Five, Ruth worried that he may become bored with the quiet life. He should have remembered Ovid's words: If you don't want to be idle, fall in love. For he had fallen in love so very deeply, and he'd not been bored for a day. Oh perhaps he was still idle here and there, after all, he was retired. But in all his life, he'd always had the excitement and the importance of his duty to the job, but his love for Ruth had pushed all other concerns aside. He would have burned the world for her sake, and she knew it, and that was part of the reason it had taken them so long to get to this point. He'd gone to war, he'd been a noble soldier in the protection of the realm, he'd even been made a knight for it. But nothing ever had true meaning until he had her.

Malcolm's toast continued. "I suppose my poems should be read chronologically. I know this is perhaps a bit obvious, but in my search for a proper poem for their wedding, thinking of Harry and Ruth seemed to give this one new meaning. This is Sonnet 116 by the Bard himself, William Shakespeare:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove.  
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

Ruth felt her breath catch in her throat at Malcolm's beautiful Shakespearean reading. He was right, it was incredibly fitting for Harry and herself. For from the beginning, when love had sprouted between them, it had been unbreakable. Perhaps it had altered and bent; after all, she and Harry had survived the unthinkable through their years together and their years apart. But never had their love faded. It was the one constant in Ruth's life through all the horror and tragedy and joy and grief and pain and triumph.

"And finally, I'll not steal your attention too much longer, I could not resist describing Ruth and Harry's romance with the greatest Romantic of them all, Keats:

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—  
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night  
And watching, with eternal lids apart,  
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,  
The moving waters at their priestlike task  
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,  
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask  
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—  
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,  
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,  
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,  
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,  
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,  
And so live ever—or else swoon to death."

Malcolm raised his glass and gave a final toast, "For a love that has lasted the ages, for two people who survived in spite of the forces tearing them down, for a marriage that triumphed over all odds. To Ruth and Harry!"

Champagne and delicious food and well-wishes flowed freely all through the evening of celebration. Neither Ruth nor Harry could remember having more fun with a crowd of people before. But the hour grew late, and people started to head off. Harry thanked those who were left and whisked Ruth away to the hotel he'd booked for them for their wedding night.

They made love passionately and for as long as they could manage. Finally, they fell asleep, exhausted and sated.

Harry awoke the next morning with Ruth still curled up in his arms. He gently kissed her forehead and traced the rings on her left hand. Ruth blinked awake and said, "Good morning, husband," in a groggy voice.

"Does it feel any different?" he asked, nuzzling his face in her hair.

"It does, actually. Does it for you?" she asked in reply.

Harry frowned, shifting slightly. "No, I was just teasing you. We've been waking up together in various states of undress for over two years, Ruth. Why does being married suddenly feel different?"

She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers to show off her wedding band. "I'm not used to wearing a ring. I know I've had the sapphire engagement ring for a while, but the wedding band itself feels different. And now every time I see it or feel it, I'm reminded that I'm your wife and you're my husband. And I didn't think I'd care about that so much, but I really do. I like having this physical reminder of you all the time. It's been two years, yes, but I still haven't fully broken the habit of keeping secrets from the world. So being able to wear this ring for the world to see is terrifying and wonderful. The fact that I'm now Lady Pearce is terrifying and wonderful. So yes, it does feel different to wake up married. But in a…in a good way."

And with that, Ruth leaned up and kissed him. Harry kissed her right back and found that he agreed with her. It was different to be married. But most certainly in a good way.


	37. Chapter 37

Ruth was, in a word, giddy. After an entire lifetime of wishing and hoping, she'd finally gotten to New York. Harry had surprised her when they got to Heathrow after their wedding night. She'd packed for a week and brought her passport and then Harry led her to their gate for a British Airways flight to New York City—flying first class, of course.

And then with the time change and the long flight where they'd both slept surprisingly well, they arrived in the afternoon and immediately went exploring to stay up as long as they could. They walked hand in hand through Central Park, had tea at the Plaza, and enjoyed a very New York Italian dinner. Every time he looked at her, Harry saw Ruth smile. And he couldn't seem to stop smiling himself.

"Nice first day?" he asked as they headed back to their hotel.

"Absolutely wonderful. I just love it here, Harry. I can't believe we finally made it."

He beamed proudly. "Anything for you, Lady Pearce."

She laughed, "Oh I love that I've got a title. It's so useless."

"Yes, I usually have the same opinion of my knighthood."

Ruth snuggled against his arm as they walked. "But it's quite sexy to be married to Sir Harry Pearce."

"And I do think it's incredibly sexy to be married to you, no matter what the title," he murmured, taking a moment to nibble on her earlobe, not caring at all that they were strolling down Park Avenue.

She shivered and gave a small whimper. "I think we should get back to the hotel now."

"I quite agree," Harry replied, walking a bit faster. "And I've got a surprise for you as well."

Ruth nearly replied with something cheeky about how his cock wasn't much of a surprise to her after two and a half years, but she kept quiet. Because in all likelihood, Harry did have something special in mind. It was the first night of their honeymoon in New York, and he had quite a gift for making an occasion of things.

Back in the hotel room, Harry pinned Ruth against the door and snogged her hungrily. The lingering flavor of the wine from dinner was still on her tongue. She pressed her hips against his and wrapped one of her legs around his. Harry's arousal grew against her thigh, but he wasn't ready to get too distracted just yet. He tore himself away from her and took a step back.

She stood there, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were a bit glazed from his abrupt departure. "Harry?"

He went to the dresser and took a giftwrapped box out. "Take this into the bathroom and open it. I'll wait here."

"What is it?" she asked, taking the box.

"A bit of a wedding present for us both."

Suspicious but still trusting him, Ruth went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Harry removed his shoes and socks and took off his coat before sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling in anticipation of what was to come.

Ruth opened the box and immediately wanted to go out and strangle her husband. He must have lost his bloody mind. She couldn't…this wasn't…Ruth sighed to herself and began to undress. Harry's words from a few months before popped into her head, and she understood his intention. And she would put on this ridiculous thing and make an utter fool of herself in the hopes that they'd both get a bit of pleasure from it.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened. Harry stood up and turned to see Ruth walk out wearing the lingerie he'd bought for her. This was unlike the things she had tempted him with before. The knickers were lace of a deep red, and the top was a matching red silk teddy that opened with a slit down the front, exposing her entire torso. She looked absolutely incredible, that red against her creamy pale skin. He immediately wanted to feel the scratch of the lace under his hands and trace his tongue on the edge of it over the tops of her breasts. "Oh…Ruth…" he breathed, unable to form any other words.

"I'd like to undress my husband now," she announced, feeling pleased at her effect on him. She had once claimed that she didn't have the sexuality for red lingerie, but the way Harry looked at her, she almost felt as if she did.

Harry just nodded a bit uselessly. Ruth approached him with gentle hands moving over his chest. His head rolled back as she began unbuttoning his shirt. Harry's eyes fluttered closed as he reveled if her touch.

Ruth noticed his breathing grow a bit heavier as her fingers danced over him, tracing the hard muscles of his shoulders and arms as she pushed the shirt off him, smoothing over his chest and belly. He had grown older in their time together, but he'd gotten in much better shape since his surgery. And it astounded her that he still affected her this way, that her ministrations still affected him much the same. It wasn't until she'd undone his belt and pushed his trousers to the floor that his attention snapped back to her.

Harry stepped out of the trousers before he pulled her into his arms and placed his hands on her bum to lift her up. Ruth yelped at being lifted immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. "Don't you dare hurt yourself!" she warned.

But Harry just growled and began kissing her deeply.

As his tongue surged into her mouth, Ruth felt her whole body begin to tingle with the telltale arousal that Harry never failed to inspire in her. He swallowed her moans as she anchored his face to hers and moved her hips to try to get a bit of friction between them. She was still wearing her fancy new underthings, and the feel of the lace was rather pleasant. But she would need to feel his skin on hers, every single bit.

It took her a moment to realize that they were moving. Ruth was too caught up in their passionate kiss to take much notice, and by the time she did, he had placed her down in the middle of their hotel bed. She lay there, gasping for air, and pushing herself up on her elbows so she could watch him look at her.

Harry had a plan now. He stepped a bit closer and removed knickers. He spread her legs before him and crawled over the bed toward her. And before she knew it, his lips and tongue were tracing lines up her inner thighs and buried between them.

She bit her tongue to keep from crying out with the sudden onslaught. But then she remembered that they were in a posh hotel in New York and they were on their honeymoon. She would be as loud as she wanted. Let the other hotel guests hear how incredibly her husband pleasured her. She gasped loudly and moaned his name as his tongue tortured her to the very heights of ecstasy.

He couldn't get enough of her. The little noises she made, the way she bucked her hips against his face, the way she cried out his name. Harry sucked hard on her most sensitive spot and plunged two thick fingers inside her, curling to heighten the sensations for her. She was panting and begging for him to move harder and faster for her release. He was nothing if not obedient to what Ruth needed. Harry Pearce had every intention of being a good husband this time around, and surely that meant doing whatever his wife asked.

Ruth felt herself be built up and up and up until her body trembled and spasmed beneath his touch. Her core was pulsating around his fingers, radiating pleasure through her whole body. Harry pulled away from her to let her body settle down. He settled beside her on top of the bed, pulling her into his arms.

She vaguely felt him pull the sheer teddy off of her. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back again, and Harry had a hand on one of her breasts and his mouth on the other. "Oh god!" she groaned, feeling herself be built back up from the beautiful attention of his teeth and tongue.

Harry just chuckled proudly, undeterred from his task. He loved every single bit of her body, the taste and texture of her. And he'd had plenty of time to learn all about what she liked. It was as though the last two years were practice for this, their perfect, naughty honeymoon. There was a specific sound she made when he concentrated and nipped at her just right. He tried a few different things before she made a high-pitched gasp and a little whimper, a sound that always got him rock-hard.

Ruth was starting to feel a bit frenzied. Already he'd made her come once, and she knew from experience that there was plenty more on the way. Her Harry was nothing if not a generous and extremely skilled lover. But this wasn't what she needed. It took every ounce of effort in her body, but she pushed herself up and reached down to shove Harry's trunks down his legs.

He didn't even realize what she was doing, as his attention was securely on her chest, but very quickly, Ruth's nimble fingers were wrapped around his hard cock. She stroked him with the confidence of experience and the power of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and precisely how to get it from her man. Harry abandoned his exploration of her chest and fell back, moaning her name.

"I want you, Harry," Ruth whispered. "I want you to fuck me."

There was no further incentive needed. Harry rolled over and settled between her legs, already spread and waiting for him. He gave no buildup as he rubbed the head of his cock against her wet folds and thrust hard inside her.

Ruth cried out at the way he suddenly filled and stretched her. He felt so good, so perfect. Making love to Harry—being fucked by him like this—was nothing like anything she'd ever experienced before they were together. It was hard to imagine now how she'd ever lived life without this.

But Harry wasn't moving the way she wanted him to. Ruth reached over and dug her fingernails into his bum, pulling him in deeper and grinding her hips to create the friction she needed. He watched where their bodies were joined, watched in awe as she took her pleasure on him, even with him poised on top of her as he was. Instead of him fucking her, as she'd wanted, she was fucking him. It was quite possibly the most erotic thing Harry had ever experienced. It didn't take long, as he'd already built her up so much, till she jerked against him and gasped with her next orgasm.

Harry had to pull out of her, for he surely would have been unable to contain himself if he remained inside her quivering sex. He was breathing heavily, trying to regain his control.

Ruth, however, had other ideas. She pulled herself up, still feeling a bit shaky and loose, and pushed Harry back onto the bed. He lay there against the pillows and watched her with eyes dark with lust.

She kissed down his chest, her tongue flicking out on each one of his old scars. Harry made happy little sighs as she made her way downward, and she delighted in hearing his pleasure at her efforts. Ruth took him in her mouth with very little pretense. It was exhilarating to suck him off after he'd been inside her, to be in complete control of him and drive him a bit mad, to taste herself on him. She especially enjoyed when he helped her along a bit, as he did now. Harry's fingers twisted in her hair, holding her tightly to guide her movements, giving him exactly what he needed. The way he pulled the hair against her scalp was just on the right side of painful, and she loved it. Every single sensation heightened her want of him, her excitement over what was to come.

Harry was starting to come apart, but he did not want to finish like this. He thrust into her mouth once before he stopped himself and pulled her off of him. "Lie down," he demanded with ragged breath.

Ruth was breathing a bit heavy herself and lay herself in the middle of the bed beside him.

But Harry shook his head. "Flip over."

A shiver passed through her as Ruth rolled onto her stomach and arched her back, lifting her hips up off the bed. They always had a good amount of variety in their lovemaking, trying out various positions. Usually they both preferred to be able to see each other's faces, but there was a deep eroticism of Harry taking her from behind. He often did this when they shagged standing up, he'd bend her over the kitchen table or the desk or the arm of the sofa. They didn't often do this in bed. Though now with Harry's fully healed knee, they could do lots of things they hadn't done before.

He covered her body in an instant, squeezing the firm flesh of her bum for a moment before pushing inside her so slowly, she nearly wept to feel every single inch of him fill her up. "Oh god, Harry!" she breathed, gasping for air as her face pressed against the pillow.

He readjusted his grip on her, sliding his hand under her body. His pace was achingly slow. The fingers grasped her breast, rolling her nipple a bit roughly. Ruth whimpered in response.

"I need…" she panted.

"What do you need?" he asked, growling into her ear and brushing his teeth against it.

"More." Ruth couldn't seem to form any other words. He was filling her, surrounding her, reaching so deep inside her, she saw stars in front of her eyes. But it wasn't quite enough, she knew.

Harry shifted again so he could reach around her body with his other hand and stroke her in time with his thrusts. "How's that?" he asked.

She moaned, gyrating against him. "Faster," she begged.

He sped up, taking her at a furious pace, pounding into her with everything he had. Ruth cried out as her climax crashed over her. Harry was unrelenting. He was so close, now. He couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to.

Hard and deep and powerful, every thrust of his hips and touch of his hands overpowered every single one of her senses. His breath was hot against her neck, his sweaty skin sliding against hers. She could barely breathe when he turned her head toward him and kissed her hard. And then with three last sputtering thrusts of his hips, he spilled inside her just as her inner walls clamped down with a vise grip around his cock, leaving them both whimpering and gasping.

Harry flopped down beside her, slipping out of her body to collapse on his stomach and catch his breath. He must have blacked out for a moment, for the next thing he knew, there was a shift in the weight on the bed and then he felt Ruth straddle his back, perched on his bum. He hummed happily at the feel of her.

She had rolled over to escape the wet patch they'd left on the bed, and she had seen Harry so exhausted and stared at the scarred muscles of his back. She could not resist climbing on top of him and tracing those scars with her gentle fingers. Ruth hadn't explored these scars before, mostly just the ones on his chest. Some, she could tell, were the result of a through-and-through. A few more burns and stab wounds. Maybe sometime later on this trip, she'd ask him about them.

Harry felt her gentle touches and sighed happily at the love that was imbued into his skin. Her weight on him shifted again, and he could feel her breasts pressed up against him and her tongue trace patterns on his skin. "That feels very nice," he whispered.

"Good," she replied, covering his back in wet kisses.

"I'm afraid I'm all spent for the night," Harry told her regretfully.

"I'd assumed so. That's alright. I just want to be sure my husband knows how I love and care for him."

He smiled. "Your husband knows. And your husband adores you beyond words."

Ruth sat up again and lightly scratched his scalp, running her fingers through his thinning hair. What there was left was soft and lightly curling, which she had always quite liked. Harry practically purred under her touch. Ruth sighed and whispered, "I think you proved your point."

"What point?" he asked, already practically asleep.

"Back at Valentine's Day, when you told me I was wrong to think I haven't got the sexuality for red lingerie. I think you were right."

"I was absolutely right," he replied firmly, though his words were starting to be a bit slurred. "Seeing you in that red was one of the sexiest things I've ever seen. And I think it was a good way to start out our married life, don't you think?"

"Very much." Ruth looked down at her wedding rings sparkling on her left hand. She would have to get off him so they could get settled in bed, but she wanted to remain where she was for just a moment longer, to touch and caress her husband in this hotel suite in New York on their honeymoon.


	38. Chapter 38

"Don't be grumpy!"

That had been Ruth's refrain for weeks. As his birthday grew closer and closer, Harry became more and more annoyed with things. And by the time October ended, he was positively melancholy.

His wife—wife! What a thing!—had done her best to keep him in good spirits. She doted on him, trying to tell him that she still found him attractive and virile. She insisted that age was just a number, that he was in better shape than he'd been in for years, that he had so much good in his life. But of course, the extra attention just kept reminding him of the depressing reality of it all. She may have been correct about all that he had to keep him happy, but the fact still remained that Harry Pearce would be sixty years old. He'd always been a bit of a grumpy old bastard, and now it was official. He was old.

When he woke up on his birthday to the first of the November dimness, he rolled over onto his back and gave a quiet groan of annoyance. Sixty. What a hideous number.

"Don't be grumpy," Ruth told him again, feeling like a broken record and her sleepy voice sounding a bit like a broken record to boot.

"I'm not grumpy," he insisted. "Just old."

"If you keep going on like that, I won't give you your birthday present."

"And what is my birthday present?"

She sat up in bed and frowned at him. "Why, you want to know if it's worth cheering up for?"

"Perhaps," he replied. There was a slight glint in his eye, however, to let her know that he was joking. Mostly.

"Well, we will be busy during the day…"

"Doing what?!" he asked, not realizing there were actual plans in place.

"Don't interrupt me," Ruth scolded.

"Sorry."

She began again. "As I was saying, we'll be busy during the day, so I thought I could start the morning off for you properly and then tonight, you can do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want? Isn't that what my whole birthday is for?"

"I mean whatever you want, sexually. Assuming you don't insist with this defeatist mood and put me off you altogether," she warned.

Harry smirked. "I guess you should start my morning off and perhaps that will inspire me to behave till later."

"I don't find you very appealing when you're grumpy. But you're my husband and I love you even when you're in a bad mood," Ruth told him with a soft smile.

He pulled her back down onto the bed and into his arms. "I am very lucky to have such a wonderful wife."

She pressed a few sweet kisses to his lips. "And I haven't even given you the first part of your birthday present yet."

"Then maybe you should, darling," he suggested, eyes sparkling with delight. For how could anyone be grumpy when Ruth was ever so lovely and charming and perfect?

Ruth pulled away from him slightly so she could push the bedsheets off of their bodies. She didn't say a single word as she undressed her husband and set to starting his birthday off properly. She'd had a few years to learn exactly how best to pleasure Harry with her hands and tongue, and he was always extremely appreciative. And by the time he came in her mouth, she was feeling quite pleased with herself.

Harry passed out from the power of his orgasm. By the time he regained consciousness, Ruth had returned from the bathroom where she cleaned herself up. She was smiling at him. "I'm going to make bacon for breakfast. Whenever you're ready."

"Come here," he beckoned, his voice hoarse from the panting and groaning he'd been doing just moments before.

Ruth returned to his arms and happily snogged him till they both pulled apart breathless. "Happy birthday, my love," she whispered.

Things were significantly less lascivious once they'd made their way down to breakfast. Harry had a shower while Ruth got breakfast ready. He fed the animals just as she was finishing the cooking.

"The party starts at one," she informed him.

"Party?"

"Yes, Harry, your birthday party," Ruth replied, as though such a thing was entirely obvious.

"Where are we having a birthday party?"

"Right here. I know how you prefer to stay at home when we can. And you always like to have everyone here, talking and laughing and drinking."

"Who all is coming?"

"You'll see." Her beautiful full lips quirked upward as she taunted him. "It wouldn't be a surprise otherwise. But I know better than to surprise you too much, so that's why I'm telling you that there is a party, and that way you can prepare yourself. I thought we could take Edith for a walk first and then get ready for everyone to arrive."

Harry agreed whole-heartedly. Really, that's all he'd wanted for his birthday. To get up to something naughty with Ruth and have a peaceful day at home playing with the dog and maybe curling up on the sofa all together. But apparently there would be a party of some sort, which he probably should have expected, knowing Ruth and her incessant need to make things just as they should be.

That was how their whole life came together, actually. Ruth had decided they should be together, live a life away from the Service. And so they did. Ruth had decided that Harry should have a better relationship with his children. And so they did. Harry had never really thought he deserved such things. After all, how could a man responsible for so much death and chaos and destruction ever be worthy of a quiet retirement with children who didn't hate him, with a wife who actually wanted him, with a front door of peeling green paint on a quiet house in Suffolk. Men like Harry Pearce die in a fiery blaze with no one but their subordinates to attend a funeral out of duty. He'd told Ruth, all those years ago, that he didn't want what Ros ended up with for himself or especially for Ruth. And even though she'd rejected what he'd offered her then, she had eventually made it come true nonetheless. Ruth was the cause of it all. She was the beginning of a new life, and she was the happily ever after.

"What's made you maudlin?" she asked, interrupting his reverie.

Harry gave her a soft smile. "Just thinking about how incredible you are. How much I love you."

She kissed him as she set the breakfast plate in front of him. "I think you're rather incredible yourself, and I love you very much. That's why I married you."

The both of them were full of smiles for the rest of the morning.

At half past twelve, Harry was pacing back and forth downstairs, waiting for the party guests to arrive. He had no idea who to expect. There were some people who were surely invited, but he had no idea how big the guestlist might be. Knowing Ruth, it could be anywhere from just two or three people to half of their little Suffolk town.

Edith followed him as he walked back and forth. Noodles was curled up nearby in a small patch of sunlight coming through the window.

"I wasn't aware that you paced," Ruth noted, standing and watching from the kitchen doorway.

Harry paused, recalling a similar conversation had many years before. "Only in a good way, someone once told me."

"Must have been someone very clever."

He chuckled, "Yes indeed."

"Probably had a massive crush on you, too. What an embarrassing thing to say."

"I found it incredibly charming."

"Well, you would, wouldn't you?"

"Only coming from a clever young woman on whom I had a massive crush myself."

Ruth was about to reply and continue their banter when the doorbell rang. She smiled broadly and hurried to go answer it.

Harry followed her slowly, not wanting to be inundated by well-wishers. But of course, these sorts of well-wishers he could stomach.

"Happy birthday, Dad!" Catherine exclaimed, abandoning Ruth and rushing toward Harry. She threw her arms around his neck enthusiastically, and he happily pulled her into a big bear hug.

"Thank you, sweetheart!" He kissed her cheek and smiled. "I'm so glad to see you!"

Fabian entered after his partner, carrying a brightly smiling little girl. "Someone told us that she had to see Granddad on her birthday, and who are we to refuse?" the Frenchman teased.

"Oh come here to me, you precious little darling!" Harry gushed, taking Claire from her father's arms. He kissed her chubby baby cheeks and delighted in her shrieking giggles.

Ruth ushered the family into the sitting room so they weren't all blocking the entryway. After all, there were other party guests who would be arriving any minute.

Fabian went out to the car to collect the food and drinks they'd brought for the party. Catherine had insisted, not wanting Ruth to go to the trouble for everyone else. But Ruth and Fabian got everything all set up anyway, leaving Harry and Catherine to play with the baby. After all, it was his birthday. And he was spending it with his very favorite little person in the whole world.

The doorbell rang again, but the arrival did not wait for the door to be opened. Graham let himself into his father's house, holding Sharon's hand. "Oi, it's not polite to leave people in the cold!"

"It's also not polite to barge into people's houses unannounced," Ruth chided with a light laugh, giving them both big hugs in greeting.

"We were invited. You knew we were coming. I rang the doorbell. Nothing was unannounced," Graham insisted.

Ruth just rolled her eyes at that and locked the door behind them. She and Fabian went to serve the food and drinks to everyone as Sharon put the birthday cake she'd baked into the kitchen for later.

"Happy birthday, Dad," Graham greeted.

Harry lit up to see his son. "Thank you," he answered simply, not wanting to get too effusive.

The family settled together with paper plates balanced on their knees and plastic cups filled with wine put on whatever surface was nearby. Catherine was on the floor with Claire, whose new favorite thing was to stand while holding her mummy's hands. Harry was in his armchair with Edith at his feet. Ruth was on the sofa with Graham and Sharon, and Fabian pulled up a chair from the dining room.

"Who else are we expecting?" Harry asked, noticing that nothing else seemed to be set up to allow for more guests.

"No one else. I thought this would be the guestlist you'd like best for your birthday party," Ruth told him.

He grinned. "Quite right."

"Dad get a bit grumpy with too many visitors?" Graham asked teasingly.

"He is not grumpy, nor will he be grumpy," Ruth snapped.

Graham held his hands up in defense. "Sorry, touchy subject there?"

Harry hummed in confirmation. "I've been told that being a grumpy old sod makes me unattractive, so for the sake of my marital relations, I'll just be an old sod, rather than a grumpy one."

Even the rather tame allusion to their sex life elicited a variety of responses. Fabian and Graham both laughed. Sharon blushed. Catherine wrinkled her nose. Claire shouted, "Da!" without any particular intent.

But before anyone could say anything more, Catherine gasped, "Fabian, I think she's going to do it!"

Fabian immediately took his mobile phone out of his pocket and pointed it towards where Catherine was sitting, holding Claire's hands. Ever so gently, Catherine let go of her daughter. Claire took a shaky step forward. And then another. And then another. And then another. And when she was just within reach, Harry held his arms out toward her, only for Edith to hop up and enthusiastically lick the baby's face. She immediately started crying.

"Oh dear," Harry said, laughing. He pushed the dog away and scooped Claire up into his arms. "No more crying, Claire. You should be celebrating! And it's my birthday, so I do wish you'd stop."

As though she had really understood him, Claire's little face changed instantly. Her tears stopped falling and her scrunched up red face calmed. And within seconds, she was smiling again.

"I got it."

Everything turned their attention to Fabian, who held up his mobile.

"Filmed the whole thing," he explained. "Our daughter's first steps. Felicitations, ma fille."

From there on out, the afternoon was significantly less about Harry's birthday and much more about Claire learning to walk. Harry couldn't have been more pleased. He didn't like that sort of attention to begin with, even if it was just his family around him. But the very thought that his granddaughter had taken her first steps into his arms—despite the interruption from the dog—was more than he could have ever hoped for on his sixtieth birthday. Fabian played the video about a dozen times, but it never got old. By the fourth time seeing it, however, Harry noticed himself in the footage. He was rather certain he'd never seen himself look so happy.

But eventually the fun had to end. The guests all had long drives home, after all. Claire had fallen asleep in Harry's arms, and he was forced to give her back to her parents. She stirred slightly as Ruth kissed her goodbye. Ruth could have sworn she heard a little baby murmur of "Naa Ru," which Ruth would always insist was the beginnings of Claire saying "Nana Ruth."

When everyone had said their goodbyes and gotten in their cars and begun their trek back to London and Gerrands Cross, Harry and Ruth were left alone in their little house once again.

"So," he began, snaking his arm around her waist, "I don't think I was too grumpy today."

"I had a feeling I could break you of that mood with my very carefully curated guestlist."

Harry kissed her temple. "The perfect guestlist, darling, thank you."

"I'm so glad you had a good birthday, Harry. I know you don't like getting older, but it is a fact of life, and I just wanted to remind you how wonderful everything is, and that doesn't change because you've turned sixty."

He could feel himself start to get emotional and did not want to ruin the good feelings. So rather than respond to her lovely sentiment, Harry cleared his throat slightly and asked, "Can I have the second part of my birthday present now?"

"I've got to clean up the kitchen first."

"We can start there."

Harry reached down and pinched her bum, making Ruth yelp and laugh and scurry off to the kitchen. Harry Pearce chased his wife and began thinking of exactly what he'd do when he caught her.


	39. Chapter 39

Harry stood behind Ruth as she rummaged through her jewelry box on top of the dresser. She huffed in frustration. He placed his hands on her hips and leaned in to kiss the side of her neck. "Something wrong, darling?"

"I didn't used to have problems like this," she grumbled.

"Problems like what?"

"Having to actually sort through jewelry to decide what to wear. I had one or two pieces I liked, and I otherwise didn't wear anything. But now, you keep buying me beautiful things and I feel bad leaving them in here all the time."

He chuckled, "I buy you things because I like seeing you wear them. But you shouldn't feel bad about not wearing things if you don't want to. Think of it this way, they're heirlooms now. You can pass them down to Claire."

Ruth turned in his grasp to look at him with a mighty scowl. "I'd rather you not plan for my eventual demise, if it's all the same."

"That won't happen for a long, long time," he promised, lightly kissing the corner of her mouth.

"It wasn't so long ago that death was just around the corner for us both," she reminded him. The thought festered in her mind. She'd only just survived being stabbed by standing between Harry and a jagged piece of glass. She'd almost died from that morphine drip or whatever it was during the Albany fiasco before Harry had rescued her. And Harry himself had stood on a rooftop after calling his children to say goodbye, expecting to be shot. More than once he had been shot and stabbed and tortured. Theirs was a dangerous world, and Ruth knew that they'd both barely made it out alive.

"Ruth," he said softly, pulling her out of her depressing tailspin.

"Hmm?"

"Which jewelry do you want to wear tonight?"

She shook herself and forced a smile. Back to the task at hand, yes. Ruth turned back around, Harry's arms still wrapped around her. "I don't know, what do you think? I've got such beautiful things. I could wear the necklace that matches my ring, that always looks nice. And especially since you got me matching earrings for Christmas."

"And the bracelet for your birthday."

Ruth sighed, astounded by Harry's new obsession with buying diamonds for her. This complete set was all vintage diamond and sapphire. And every bit of it was exquisite. "I don't know, it might be too much blue."

"You look very nice in blue," he whispered, pressing soft kisses all up and down her neck.

"The dress I'm wearing is an off-white cream. I don't think I want much color."

"Then wear the plain diamonds," Harry suggested.

'Plain' was a silly term, but she knew what he meant. He had gotten her gorgeous diamond florets for Christmas over a year before and had gotten her the most extravagant diamond necklace for Valentine's Day. She could have killed him, particularly when she found the receipt from the jeweler's in the pocket of his trousers. Some spook he was, forgetting where he'd left the paper trail. But oh lord, that Edwardian-era necklace covered in diamonds with its enormous pendant was just so pretty. And the dress she was planning to wear for their special dinner was a bit lower cut…it would show off the necklace nicely…

"Yes, plain diamonds it is," she agreed.

Harry lifted his head to smile. "Good. I like that necklace on you. The way it sits around your neck, it draws the eye in a particular direction."

"If you weren't my husband, I'd call you a dirty old man for staring at my tits like that," she teased.

He gave a bark of a laugh. "Yes, well, seeing how I am your husband, perhaps you'll take pity on this dirty old man." He took a step back and let Ruth get on with what she was doing. He could paw at her later. And a thought crossed his mind as he watched her gently take the necklace out of the box where she kept it. "I seem to recall an idea you had once."

"I've had lots of ideas, Harry, you'll have to be more specific."

Oh she was cheeky! "Something about wearing diamonds and nothing else."

Ruth turned sharply to look at him. "Would you like that?"

He cleared his throat slightly awkwardly. "Well, yes, I think so."

She cocked her head in interest. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why?'" he asked in return. Shouldn't it have been obvious?

"I don't really understand it, the obsession with adorning a woman's body. The lingerie I still don't quite know what to do with, but we've had a lot of fun with it, so I don't min. But what's the point of me wearing diamond jewelry when we make love? I mean, wouldn't it just get in the way? Or is it a distraction, something for you to look at that isn't my rolls of fat and sagging, wrinkly body?"

Harry felt as though he'd been struck in the face. "I happen to adore that body of yours, every line and curve and inch of it, so I won't have you speak ill of my wife that way."

She laughed lightly. "Well thank you for that. But I'm serious, Harry, what's the point of it? Why does it excite you? And you can't deny that it does, because I can see what's going on in your trousers right now."

He shifted where he stood, hoping his half-erection would dissipate. Particularly with the way Ruth was making him analyze his vaguely fetishistic desires.

His silence was unnerving her, and Ruth worried that she'd ruined their night before it even began. "Never mind, Harry. It's not important."

"No, it is important," he insisted. "I just…I've never really thought it through before. But I do love to adorn your body, Ruth. I love you just as you are, you know that. I want you just as much if you're in a ratty old pair of pants or delicate lace. Or nothing at all. I mean, my god, I think we've made love in every possible manner over the last three years, haven't we?"

She gave a small smile. "I think so, yes."

Harry took two steps toward her so he could place his hands on her arms. "I love you always, Ruth. But seeing you in all sorts of finery just feels so very good. It's arcane and disgustingly masculine, I'm sure, but I take great pride in being able to buy extravagant things for you. To be able to…to adorn you in diamonds. You sparkle without any of that, but with it, it's as though the world can see you as I do. Not that I'd ever want anyone else to see you in diamonds and nothing else. But you are so magnificent inside and out, darling, and I just like seeing you like the goddess I see you as."

"You see me as a goddess?"

He let his hands drop to his sides. "I don't know. I think that's just a saying. Something like that. Truth be told, I see you as Ruth more than anything else."

"Just Ruth?"

"Always Ruth. And that's better than you being a queen or a goddess or any other stupid word I could find."

Ruth caught her bottom lip between her teeth, a sure-fire sign that she was thinking of something creative and rather naughty. "I suppose that's rather sweet of you."

Harry smiled and gave her a quick kiss and a swat on her bum. "Come on, get ready. We've got dinner reservations that I don't want to be late for."

They went to the formal restaurant where Harry had once taken Ruth for her birthday. He had proposed to her in their garden after dinner, but returning to that restaurant seemed a rather apt way to celebrate their first wedding anniversary. They would be going to Barcelona the following week, as Ruth's classes were out for the summer and Harry wanted to write another of his travel books. This one would be his eighth, and with each one he published, his sales seemed to grow. He even dared to call himself a 'moderate success' now. Not that they needed the money, of course, but it was a point of pride for Harry to feel like he was doing well at what he was doing. He'd always been that way and likely would be till the day he died; he never needed to be the best at what he did, but he did need to reach the level of success and respect that he felt he should achieve. He had done so in the army, in MI-5, and now as an author. Though now, thankfully, his personal life was not a casualty of that success, and, in fact, his personal life was the thing of which he was prouder than anything else.

He and Ruth had been married for a whole year. Life hadn't really changed much for them at all. She still went by Professor Evershed. They still lived in their same house and did the same things with their same friends. But Harry had overheard her make their dinner reservations for 'Sir Harry and Lady Pearce' and saw the most incredible smile on her face as she said that. He had never been so happy to hear his name next to someone else's. And at least once a week, Harry took Ruth's left hand and kissed her wedding ring. As for his wedding ring, well, once Ruth placed it on his finger in that little church in front of God and everyone, he hadn't had any desire to take it off. And unless absolutely necessary, he knew he never would remove it from his finger.

They shared a champagne toast and soft declarations of love during their anniversary dinner. Ruth looked radiant in her dress and dripping in diamonds. She wore her hair longer now than he'd seen on her since they had first met, and he found it extremely lovely. It seemed to catch the candlelight and shine next to the sparkling jewelry.

All through the meal, Ruth stayed rather quiet. She was thinking of ideas for when they got back home. She didn't often do much planning for their sex life—lingerie here and there or perhaps a surprise blowjob on the sofa on a rainy Saturday—but she quite enjoyed the anticipation of it all. Harry always showed his appreciation for her efforts, which encouraged her to find more opportunities for some creative lovemaking. And tonight, their anniversary, was a very special night.

When they got home, Ruth told Harry in no uncertain terms that he should take care of the animals and make sure everything was settled in the house and not come up to their bedroom for twenty minutes. He grinned at her stern instructions. For surely those instructions were going to result in something extremely wonderful for them both.

As Harry did as he was told, Ruth hurried upstairs. She took out all the candles she could find from the bathroom and those stored in the linen closet, and she set them up all around the bedroom. She lit them before pulling down the bedsheets and taking off all her clothes and lying atop the bed completely naked. Completely naked except, of course, the diamond jewelry she'd worn to dinner.

Downstairs, Harry was glancing at his watch every few seconds. He'd taken Edith outside to do her business, he'd replaced the litter in the box for Noodles, and he'd even washed the two forks resting in the kitchen sink. And finally, a full twenty minutes had gone by. He removed his jacket and undid his tie as he climbed the stairs. Harry had a feeling he was going to want to be rid of his clothes as soon as possible.

He entered their bedroom and found it glowing. All of the lights were off, but there were candles lit all around. The dim light illuminated Ruth in the center of their bed. The diamonds glinted from the flickering flames. And Ruth was resplendent and smiling.

"Happy anniversary, my love," she murmured.

"Oh my god, Ruth," he breathed.

She grinned. "Was this what you imagined?"

"Even better."

"Good, I'm glad," she replied proudly.

"Most things about you are even better than I imagined," Harry told her earnestly.

Ruth laughed lightly and shook her head. "You don't need to woo me, Harry, but since you are, why don't you come join me and celebrate our anniversary properly? I think it's a very important part of marriage for you to make passionate love to your wife."

Harry quickly took off all his clothes so he could join her on the bed. She watched him as he watched her. "Christ, you're beautiful. Glowing and sparkling like that. I wish you could see how incredible you look."

"I'll take your word for it," she replied, feeling herself blush. Even after so long, he could still make her blush.

But an idea popped into Harry's mind. That in itself was rather remarkable, as he tended to be extremely thick when he was aroused. Before he joined Ruth on the bed, he went to the far side of the bedroom to retrieve the full-length mirror from its place beside the closet. He felt a bit of a fool, carrying the bloody thing while nude, but he was quite determined.

"What are you doing?" Ruth asked him, obviously very confused at his sudden compulsion to move the furniture.

Harry placed the mirror beside the bed, next to Ruth's side. "There. Now you can see yourself. We can both see."

She wasn't entirely sure what he was thinking as he went over to his side of the bed to lay down beside her. Normally he climbed directly on top of her, which she happened to enjoy very much. This was very different.

"Turn to the side, Ruth," he instructed, his voice growing huskier as he saw his idea take shape. "Look at yourself in the mirror."

Ruth was not sure if she was appalled or aroused by such a thing. She did not often see herself naked, not in this way. And when she lay on her side, she saw an altogether different angle. Her breasts pressed together, thanks to gravity. Her body curved much more than she'd thought, from her slim waist to her hip. Her legs, too, looked different from this angle. It was quite odd to see.

But then Harry pressed himself behind her. He kissed her bare shoulder and moved her hair aside so he could nip at her neck and trace his tongue over the diamond necklace. Ruth watched as his hand came over her waist and up to her breast, teasing her nipples as his kisses grew a bit rougher. "Are you watching?" he growled, coming up for air.

"Yes," she squeaked out. And at that point, it was a rather heady, erotic thing, to watch Harry's big hands over her body like that. With every movement, the diamonds caught the light from the candles. "Oh god, Harry," she moaned.

Harry's hand traveled down between her body, lightly skimming over her fading scar before getting down to the thatch of dark curls. He nudged his knee between hers so she would lift her leg and give him the space he needed to maneuver. And Ruth watched in the mirror as Harry's skilled fingers rubbed and teased her and slipped inside her body. She could see her own wetness glisten as Harry moved in and out of her.

Ruth had never seen herself orgasm before. She forced herself to keep her eyes open and was somehow even more turned on by what she saw. Her mouth was open, her body flushed, her hips jerking and undulating with the pulsing waves of pleasure Harry brought her. His tongue was back on the necklace now, drawing her attention to those diamonds once against.

"You are the most incredible wife in all the world," Harry whispered, taking his hand from her quivering sex and licking his fingers clean. He caught Ruth's gaze in the mirror, watching his every move. And from what he could tell, she very much enjoyed being able to do so. Their eyes locked in their reflections, and time seemed to stand still. The heat and passion and intimacy between them seemed to rob the room of all oxygen. It did not, of course, as the candles continued to burn. The flame was unconcerned with their desperate emotions, their powerful desire.

Ruth eventually broke the silence, though her eyes stayed fixated on his. "Harry," she whined quietly, lifting her leg and curling it around behind her to catch his.

With the briefest fumble to line up his hard cock with her throbbing entrance, Harry pushed himself inside her. She gasped at being filled and stretched, and her eyes practically rolled back in her head. But Harry caught her attention again. "Watch us, Ruth," he told her.

It was in Ruth's mind to tell him she wanted to watch, wanted to watch as he fucked her, but the words would not seem to come from her mouth. Sometimes she could get away with saying something a bit dirty like that, and Harry always seemed to like it very much, but there was something very beautiful about this moment, something sacred about this night. She would not sully it with the profane. Instead, all she said was, "I love you, Harry." And she watched as his cock disappeared inside her over and over. She watched as his fingers stroked her in time with his thrusts. She watched as her own hand joined his and guided the rhythm she needed to shatter once again.

Harry was getting extremely close himself. His hips snapped against hers and their sweaty bodies slid together, filling the room with the sounds of their slapping flesh and his grunts and her breathy moans. The high-pitched whimpers were a certain sign that Ruth was just on the brink, but Harry could not hold back any longer. With a bone-deep groan, he spilled inside her, and it was all he could do to keep moving. But then, Ruth gasped and he could feel the clenching, pulsating sensation around his cock and under his hand as she came with him.

They did not move much as they tried to catch their breath. Ruth felt her whole body buzz with her rapid heartbeats and her aftershocks. She was held fast in Harry's embrace, and he was still inside her and shockingly still hard for the time being. She didn't want to break the moment. She wanted him to surround her in every possible way, to feel him within her body. The candles still burned around them, and the diamonds were still visible and shining beautifully. Ruth could barely keep her eyes open, but she continued to look at herself and at Harry behind her and at everything else visible in the mirror. Everything was so very beautiful.

Just as Ruth did not want to shatter the magic spell, Harry did not want to see the end of the moment either. His cheek rested on hers, he felt their bodies shift slightly with every heavy breath he took. Their legs were still tangled together as they kept one another anchored to each other.

Harry was not sure if Ruth was expecting him to say something. The power of speech was not one he possessed just then. He felt as though he should say something, tell her he loved her, wish her a happy anniversary, something. But there was nothing to say. Nothing at all. Eventually, of course, they would have to move and blow out the candles and put the mirror back where it belonged. But for just a little while longer, they shared the silence.


	40. Chapter 40

It was a quiet morning. It had been a very quiet few days, since it had happened. Even though they'd seen it with their own eyes, the reality of it still had not sunk in.

On Sunday morning, Harry answered their home phone to hear Malcolm Wynn-Jones tell him in a very weak voice that he was in the hospital and would it be too inconvenient for Ruth and Harry to come visit him? They were in the car and on the way as soon as Harry hung up the call.

And that was the thing of it, really. Malcolm never really _needed_ anything. He never asked for much. He was always a very kind, considerate friend. He loved them very much and enjoyed coming over to theirs for the holidays and such. After his mother died, however, Ruth and Harry had not heard him speak much about his personal life at all. They knew he left Five and did private data security and worked from home. Other than that, he kept to himself. So when he asked them to come visit him, there was no other recourse than to go straight away.

It was a good thing they did not delay. Malcolm was extremely sick. He had been diagnosed too late for treatment to be effective. He was fading very fast. The three of them got to speak for a few hours before Malcolm slipped into a coma. Harry held his friend's hand as Ruth sat beside him, crying quietly. They stayed beside him as long as they could, cancelling any and all other obligations so they could be with Malcolm till the end. On Thursday, he was gone.

And so the morning of the funeral had come. Harry would be giving the eulogy. Ruth was going to read one of Malcolm's favorite poems by Walt Whitman. It was the poem that Malcolm had given to Harry to recite at Colin's funeral all those years ago.

Ruth put on her black dress and hat and put a handkerchief in her purse beside the page with the poem. She wasn't sure how she'd get through it, but every time she worried about carrying on, she thought of Malcolm and his quiet strength all those years they'd worked with him. He carried on regardless. And Ruth would not let him down.

Harry had cried much less than Ruth had through all of it, but his heart felt bleak and empty. He stayed as close to his wife as he could at all times. Holding her hand, wrapping her in his arms. She seemed to understand his need for the closeness and did not question it at all.

"Anyone from the Service expected to be there?" Ruth asked as Harry drove to the church.

"I don't think so. He retired a long time ago, so no one would be obligated to go as they would if he were still there. And I don't know that he had any other former colleagues he kept in contact with," Harry answered.

Ruth just nodded. She fell silent as she got lost in thought once more. "He was the last one," she suddenly realized aloud.

"Last one what?"

"Malcolm was the last person alive who knew us on the Grid. No one we know now knew us then."

Harry thought about it for a moment and realized she was correct. Wes was at university now—Cambridge, much to the mild disappointment of Ruth and Harry's Oxford sensibilities—but he didn't really know Harry and Ruth in the course of their work when he was small. He had been shielded from the day to day realities of the Grid, outside of the injury and death it brought to his parents. But everyone else was gone. Tom was off in the wind and Harry had not heard from him since retirement. Zoe was living in Chile or wherever else under a different identity. Danny and Fiona and Adam and Colin and Zaf and Jo and Ros and Lucas and Tariq were all dead. Beth Bailey escaped alive and returned to the seedy underbelly of the world without a word. Erin and Dimitri and Calum were still at Five as far as Harry knew. No one who had worked with both he and Ruth was in contact with them now. They'd only ever had Malcolm. And now he was gone, too.

"It's all behind us now. All of it," Ruth continued quietly. "There isn't a single person alive to remind us of what we once were."

He just nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Ruth was right. It had taken almost eight years since leaving Five for them to truly bury the past. The last of it would be buried today. But this was the part they hadn't wanted to let go of.

They parked the car by the church and followed a crowd of people inside. Ruth didn't know a single one of them. Were they relatives? Friends? She had the sinking realization that she knew so little of Malcolm's life. Even after they had all left the secrecy of MI-5, none of them ever broke habit of keeping to themselves. Yes, they shared holidays together and talked about books and films. Yes, they enjoyed each other's company and kept up with stories of the animals and Harry's children and all of their travels. But Malcolm had not shared much with them of his own world. And Ruth desperately wished she could sit with him and have a cup of tea one last time and ask him all these questions.

Ruth took a seat in the second pew. Harry left her for a moment so he could speak with the minister about the eulogy. A woman sat down beside her and gave a gentle smile. "Are you a friend of Malcolm's?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Ruth answered. "I worked with him for many years and we kept in touch after retirement. Next week will be the first Christmas we've spent without him in eight years." She swallowed the lump in her throat, averting her gaze from this stranger to whom she was giving far too much information. "And…and you?" Ruth asked awkwardly.

"I lived next door to Malcolm for almost a decade. He lived up the road for a long time in a big house with his mother, and after she passed, he downsized and took the little place next to mine. He was just wonderful. A bit quiet, but always so kind and lovely. I'm going to miss him very much. I already do. I can't imagine what it'll be like to have some stranger there when the place gets sold." The woman sighed sadly. "I'm Sally Curtis, by the way."

"Ruth Pearce." It made Ruth smile to say her legal name. She didn't get much opportunity for it usually.

Harry came to sit down in time for the service to begin. "Alright, darling?" he asked, checking on her.

"Yes, Harry, this is Sally Curtis, she lived next door to Malcolm. Sally, this is my husband, Harry. Malcolm was Harry's best man at our wedding, actually."

As Harry politely greeted the woman sitting beside Ruth, she wanted to kick herself. This incessant need she seemed to have to over-share was revolting. Not in the least because she sounded like she was competing with everyone to prove their importance in Malcolm's life. None of these people knew them, and Ruth doubted if many of them even knew each other. Malcolm had been kind and gentle to everyone, but it seemed that he really had kept to himself for so much of his life. Still, the sheer number of people who had come to mourn him was a strange sort of comfort. Malcolm was such a good man, and Ruth was pleased to see that he was loved by so many.

Thankfully, the funeral started, and Harry did not have to waste time with small talk. He very much did not wish to speak with anyone at the moment. He'd have to get up and talk in front of all these strangers very soon, and it was not something he relished. But Malcolm deserved it. He deserved to have his life remembered and mourned and celebrated by as many people as possible. Harry did not realize how many lives Malcolm had obviously touched, but Harry himself felt very lucky to be among them. After all, it was not the neighbor, Sally Curtis, or the chap from the coffee shop or the elderly widow from the library who had been at Malcolm's side when he died, and it had not been any of those people who would be giving the eulogy. That honor belonged to Harry alone. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

There was a strange sort of calm that Harry suddenly felt, standing there in the church with Ruth beside him. How many funerals had they been to where they'd stood just like this, singing hymns and morning their fallen friends? Danny had been the first. Tariq had been the last. The sound of Ruth's voice was a comfort at all times, but there was something very familiar about hearing her sing with the rest of the congregation during a funeral. In some ways, this had all happened before. In that distant world they'd left behind. Perhaps that was because this was Malcolm, the last of their colleagues to whom they would have to say goodbye. They would attend other funerals in the future, surely, but none would ever again be like this. Though, of course, this funeral was unlike any that came before. Because this was Malcolm.

"And now, to say a few words to commemorate the life of our dearly departed, Malcolm's life-long friend, Sir Harry Pearce."

There was a soft murmur that echoed through the church at the minister's words. Sally Curtis's eyes nearly bugged out of her head as Ruth gave Harry's hand a squeeze and he stood up to stand at the pulpit.

He looked out onto the crowd of people, all staring at him, all waiting to hear his words about the man whose life they all shared in one way or another. Harry was no stranger to public speaking, of course, though it had certainly been some time since the occasion had called for it. He glanced at Ruth, who gave him a subtle nod. And with that, he began. "'Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art. It has no survival value; rather, it is one of those things that give value to survival.' C.S. Lewis. Now, I will admit to you all that it took me rather a long time to find a quote I thought would be an appropriate beginning. Malcolm Wynn-Jones was always a man with the perfect quote at the ready. He loved literature and poetry, and even in the depths of the dark shadows that we inhabited together for so many years, he was always able to find the light and beauty in words to carry us from our despair. Malcolm probably would have found something much more appropriate to say than I ever could, but what Lewis said holds true. Love is often the one thing that can make our lives worth living, even in the direst of circumstances. Romantic love can be messy but the love of a friend, that is something worth cherishing."

Harry took a pause, glancing back down at his notes. The whole church was silent; a pin drop could have made a racket in that moment. The remarks he had prepared didn't seem right, somehow. He turned the page over, ignoring what he'd written. And Harry continued, "Malcolm was my friend for over thirty years. Over half our lives, actually. He was always dependable, kind, and true. I have trouble finding the proper things to say to capture what I knew of his life, now that it is over. I find that as much as I knew him, who he was and what he believed, I know so little of his life. Malcolm was my friend for all that time, and yet all of you here are people I've never seen before. I doubt I'd recognize most of your names. And for that, I feel a profound sadness. That there was so much more to Malcolm, who all of us loved so dearly, than perhaps any of us really knew." Harry's voice caught in his throat and he took a moment to clear it.

Ruth watched Harry closely, seeing that he had gone away from the eulogy he had written. It amazed her slightly that he was speaking now of the precise thoughts that Ruth herself had been thinking just minutes earlier. She caught Harry's gaze and saw how much of the tension in his posture was eased by their eye contact.

"My wife, Ruth," Harry went on, "has often credited Malcolm with being the best and worst thing that ever happened to our relationship. Many, many years ago, Ruth was very shy and private, and Malcolm had found out that she and I had gone out to dinner on what was our first date at the time. And being the exceedingly kind man that he always was, Malcolm approached her in our office and told her how wonderful he thought it was, she and I being together. Which made her panic and break up with me."

There was a small smattering of chuckles at that. Ruth's cheeks turned bright pink.

Harry went on, "But she told me later that knowing that Malcolm supported us, that he believed that us being together was a good idea when Ruth herself had trouble believing it, began to give her faith in us. That's the sort of man Malcolm always was. He believed in the small joys to be found in the world. He believed in intellectual pursuits, that crossword puzzles were the height of entertainment. He believed that the right thing was always worth working for. And he believed that a bottle of scotch must be shared with quite talk about things that really matter in this world. I was lucky enough to work beside him for most of my career, and thanks to his brilliance and his calm strength and his never-ending efforts on behalf of things and people he cared about, Malcolm Wynn-Jones gave me a friendship that put the value in our survival. He was my friend, and I shall miss him for the rest of my days."

And with that, Harry collected his pages and returned to his seat in the pew beside Ruth. She immediately wrapped her arms around his waist underneath his jacket and pressed her face into his neck. He could feel her tears against his skin but was not bothered in the least. He held her close and kissed her hair as the minister thanked Harry for his words and called up Ruth for her reading of one of Malcolm's favorite poems.

She quickly wiped her face with her handkerchief before making her way to the pulpit Harry had just vacated. He sat with his head hanging down, staring at the stone floor beneath his feet. As much as he wanted to watch Ruth speak, he was not certain that he could life his face just now. He let the sound of her lovely voice wash over him with Walt Whitman's words.

Even though they'd had the last two weeks to think about the loss of their dear friend, to put it into words for the eulogy, Harry was not sure he had really felt any of it until now. Perhaps he would live the rest of his life like this, feeling the pang of loss in his chest, the sinking emptiness in his gut. Christmas without Malcolm this year was going to be extremely difficult. Claire was old enough now to know what was going on, and Harry knew his granddaughter would ask him where Uncle Malcolm was. He had always been very good with her, showing off little magic tricks to delight her young sense of wonder. It was unfortunate that Harry's grandson, currently inside Sharon's belly and four months from his due date, would not get to meet Uncle Malcolm.

Ruth came back to sit beside Harry again. He hadn't even really realized that she had finished her poem. "Can we go take a walk by the lake?" she whispered.

Harry recognized that pleading tone to her voice. He nodded and held her hand. The minister was finishing out the final prayer and telling the congregation that they would be going to the graveside for the interment. Malcolm had been cremated, so there would be no pallbearers to carry a casket. Harry and Ruth avoided the crowd of people by going not toward the cemetery behind the church but instead to the small lake on the other side of the hill.

"Thank you," Ruth said, letting out a deep exhale as soon as they had made their escape. "I just couldn't bear talking to a whole lot of people asking questions just now."

"I agree. Good idea," he replied.

They held hands as they strolled beside the water, falling silent for the time being.

Ruth's mind was swirling with a million different things due to the loss of their friend. And she thought about what Harry had said in his eulogy. "You did very well," she told him.

"Thank you," he answered simply.

"The C.S. Lewis quote was very good. That friendship gives value to survival. And how friendship and love are what make life worth living. That was…that was lovely."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I never thought I'd be the sort of person to say anything like that, let alone believe it. But a lot's changed in the last few years since we left the Service. It wasn't until I had to think long and hard about what life was like back when we worked with Malcolm that I really realized it, I think."

Ruth stopped abruptly in the shade of a willow tree, holding Harry back with her. "Do you know what you mean to me?"

He regarded her curiously. "I know you love me as I love you. We're married. We're happy."

Ruth shook her head.

"No? We're not in love and married and happy?" he teased lightly.

"No, of course we are," she clarified. "But what I mean is…Harry, you're my whole life. And it took me a long time to realize that and to have that not scare me to death, but it's true. Looking back on everything, it's almost painfully obvious. My life started and ended with you. Everything before we met was just preparation for you. You took over my entire world. The job did that, of course, but it was mostly you."

Harry was not quite sure what to make of that. He stayed quiet, waiting for her to say something else.

She leaned back against the bark of the tree. "I wonder sometimes what my life would have been if I'd never met you. If I had stayed at GCHQ, or if I'd been seconded to a different Section at Five. I can't even fathom it now, what that might have been. Everything about the most important years of my life is so wrapped up with you."

"I hadn't thought of it like that before, but you're right," he said quietly. "Meeting you utterly changed my life. I used to think that falling in love with you was what did it, but I'm rather sure that I could not have avoided falling in love with you, even if I wanted to. I could not have met you and not fallen in love with you, Ruth."

A small smile played on her lips. "Yes, I know the feeling."

"I lived almost fifty years before we met, but I agree with you, all that now just feels like preparation. I faced almost certain death quite a few times during our time together, but many, many more times before that as well. And I caused the death of countless people, good and evil alike."

"More evil than good," she assured him.

"I hope so. But what I'm getting at, Ruth, is that you gave a new meaning to all of it for me. And I think that's what we truly mean to each other. Is that where you were going with that?"

"Something like that, yes." She reached out to him so they could be folded in each other's arms. They held each other quietly for a moment before Ruth added, "I'm glad every day that we were able to get out alive. We very nearly didn't make it."

He kissed the top of her head. "Yes, I know."

Ruth pulled back from him just enough to look up into his eyes. "We lived long lives before we met, Harry. And we had a life together devoted to Queen and to county, our duty to the job and to saving the world. But I know now, with all these wonderful years we've had since then, that we never really _lived_ until now. And we couldn't. We couldn't have had a life of love and freedom and happiness, not until after."

And they did. They lived happily ever after.

* * *

 **Author's Note: This is the end of my story and I think a natural place to leave them be. I wrote these 40 chapters over 11 months after spending nearly four months coming up with ideas before ever putting the words on the page. All through watching Spooks, I have longed to give Harry and Ruth a gentle story, a life that they can share and challenges within that life for them to overcome. More than anything, I wanted them to lived happily ever after. And that could only happen after they left the Service and truly lived.** ** **This is the story I always wanted to tell and it is very bittersweet to bring it to an end.** I thank you all for your support and reviews, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed my take on these two amazing characters.  
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